


What If?

by Aseikh



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, F/F, F/M, FYI, Fluff, Gen, I take requests, M/M, Random & Short, ask to tag, possible character deaths, tag as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 61
Words: 63,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4582794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aseikh/pseuds/Aseikh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short-stories, brief drabbles, a few short ideas, and just . . . What Ifs. What if . . . Will died? What if . . . certain characters weren't as truthful as you were lead to believe? What if . . . some characters weren't as loyal as they were supposed to be? What if . . . those small inklings Flanagan left in the back of your mind were actually something so . . . so much bigger? (Chapters not continuous, each their own story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Feel the World Come Up (Will's POV)

_"You feel yourself, flying through the air. You can feel yourself flying . . . downwards . . . to meet the earth."_  

Will fell. He had failed. He couldn't even protect his own family. _"_

_All you can think is of how you're just waiting for you death. For your body to come down, and the earth to come up to meet you."_

They're going to die. No . . . Oh, please no. Please.

_"All you can think about, is that in just a few seconds, you won't be thinking. You'll just be gone."_

Will Treaty was stretched out horizontally. His cloak was cushioned up underneath him, making it seem as if he wasn't falling. He felt as if he was lying in bed. But . . . he wasn't.

_"You'll fall, and after all that, you realize that your demise isn't all that you're thinking about."_

The Ranger didn't feel the pain of the arrow in his shoulder. He didn't feel the pain of the cut in his side. He just lies there, thinking. Thinking . . . and falling.

_"You're also thinking about them. Your family. Parents, spouses, friends - close or even just mutual - and just . . . just everyone you've ever met, whether you remember meeting them or not. You'd be thinking not just about them, but for them. You're never going to see them again. And they're never going to see you again. At least, not with the light in your eyes."_

The rocks and sea were getting closer. He could sense it.

_"And you know what? I think I would mainly be thinking of you. Your smile. Your warm embraces. Your cheeky grin, and your messy hair. Your sarcastic comments, and the just plain stupid explanations for anything and everything you did. I'd miss our long kisses just before bed, and our pointless conversations in the middle of the night when one of us couldn't sleep."_

He closed his eyes.

_"But most of all, I'd just miss **you**. I'd miss you so much. Just as you'd miss me." _

Will let a smile play across his lips in his last moments.

_"You'd miss me, right?"_

Funny how that conversation popped in his mind. Will opened his eyes, and looked back up the that way he had fallen. The edge of the cliff was far above, and people's heads were just visible looking over. Were they looking for him?

_Yeah_ , Will thought, _Yeah, Alyss. I'd miss you. Oh, I'd miss you so much._

Will Treaty, Araluen's most legendary Ranger, felt the world come up. And he didn't feel it anymore, the sensation of falling.

_And he missed them._


	2. I'm Sorry

Dying over twenty times causes a certain type of pattern. After you "die", people  _expect_  you to come back. They  _expect_  you to always have some miraculous trick up your sleeve - at all times - and to be something near immortal. Well, no. It's not like that.

It's luck. It's chance. It's fate. Call it what you will, but people who "die" twenty times, they . . . well, they don't actually have any skill, or tricks. People with skills or tricks don't "die" twenty times. In fact, they wouldn't "die". They'd  **live**.

I've "died" a few times in my young life. But this time . . . This is different. In the few times I have "died", I've either escaped by chance, or lived by luck. People just thought I was going to die, or never seen again, or something like that. I was just lucky in the end. But . . . this injury, I don't feel it. I don't feel anything. I don't hear anything. And I can barely see anything. There's nothing –  _nothing_.

I'm . . . dying. This time . . . I'm - I'm actually dying.

_Lying on the ground, in the center of the clearing, Will Treaty lie dying. He doesn't feel. Doesn't hear. Doesn't see. Can't taste, or smell either. But, there is still that other sense he developed during Ranger training._

Footsteps. Someone's coming. Running. Who is it? Friend or foe? Neither?

_But now, even that sense is fading. The footsteps grew duller. Softer. Soon, they just become a soft beat in the back of the young Ranger's lingering mind. Replacing the slowing beat of his heart._

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, Alyss, my one true love. I'm sorry I'm leaving so early. I'm sorry I'm leaving you alone with a three year old, and another young one on the way. I'm sorry I'm leaving you alone to raise two children. I'm sorry I'm leaving you at all. And I'm sorry I'm leaving you on such bad terms. The last time you saw me, I was leaving our cabin outside of Redmont, after saying to you, "Believe me, you don't need me. If anything, you'd do better on your own. It's always been like that, so why are we trying to fix something when it wasn't even supposed to work?" I should have just told you the truth.

I'm sorry, Halt. I'm leaving you, probably wondering about what happened to your apprentice. Why was he driven off to such a dark path? Why didn't he tell you? Why didn't I tell you? Why didn't I just tell you the truth? Why did I keep lying? You could've helped! I should've trusted you. Should have known you'd understand, and try to help.

I'm sorry, Horace. I'm sorry. My last words to you were "Horace, I don't need your damn sarcastic comments at the moment. So either shut up, or get the hell away from me." In truth Horace, the last thing I actually needed was you leaving me. You knew that, but knowing it would make me happy, or at least in a better mood, you left me. And I'm not sure what I feel about that. All I know is that what I needed was your comfort.

I'm sorry, Gilan, for being such an asshole at the last gathering, you didn't deserve that treatment. I'm sorry, Evanlyn, Cassandra, for completely ignoring you, then yelling at you when you got annoying. I'm sorry, Crowley, for not listening to you - for refusing to even consider listening. I'm sorry, Jenny, for not standing up for you. I'm sorry, George, for calling you a 'pretentious asshole who needed to mind his own business. I'm sorry, Duncan, for not telling the truth. I could have. You gave me the chance, and I laughed in your face. I'm sorry.

I've failed you . . . I've failed all of you . . .

_Even though the Ranger couldn't tell, the running footsteps were drawing closer. But they were too late._

I'm . . . so . . .

_A solitary tear slid down the side of the face of a limp body. A limp body of a Ranger._

_Ranger Gilan burst into the clearing. He had heard a scream. His sword was drawn, and his hood_ _had fallen_ _down_ _when he had started running_ _. But he wouldn't need_ _his sword_ _. Whoever had been there was gone. All he saw, was a_ _limp_ _body in the center of the clearing, in a_ _deep_ _pool of blood, wearing clothes that looked all too familiar._ _They looked like his clothes._ _The Ranger's uniform. He had found Will. Finally._

_But he was too late._


	3. To Feel the World Come Up (Alyss' POV)

She couldn't breathe. One second he was there, the next, gone. Time seemed to freeze as she realized what had happened: he'd fallen.

_"Alyss, I've been climbing things my whole life. You know that. I won't fall."_

She remembered when she had talked to him before, how large and dark the bloodstain on his shirt had been. He'd insisted he was fine.

_"But Will, you nearly broke your neck! You can't survive that kind of injury."_

A man with a bow was near the forest edge. His hands moved, almost as fast as Will, whom she had watched practice shoot often; when she had the time. The man's bow arm went up, an arrow nocked, and he started to draw the bow. He seemed to be the only foe around. She watched Halt next to her in slow-motion. His arm went up, selected an arrow, nocked it, and drew back. Halt would surely win this.

_"Yes, I am aware. But I didn't fall. I jumped down, and just happened to land on my leg wrong."_

_"And because you landed on that leg wrong, Will, you now have a broken ankle."_

She didn't wait to find out. Slipping past Halt, she ran towards the cliff. Towards where she had last seen her husband. Behind her, she heard the thrum of Halt releasing his arrow. Seconds later, Alyss watched the man near the forest topple over. That's when Halt realized she wasn't behind him any longer.

"Alyss!"

_"I am aware of that as well. But I didn't fall. I just don't fall, honey."_

The ground around where Will had been was crumbling and rocky. The courier hesitated before stepping onto the loose rocks. Rocks that could tumble down at any time.

_"Everyone falls Will. There's a first for everyone. You're smart enough to know that."_

_"And I know that. I have no doubt that one day it will happen. Maybe I'll just be having a bad day, and I'll fall."_

She stepped out onto the rocks. Will had been standing near the edge, too close for her comfort.

_"Out of a tree? Off the roof? Maybe you'll slip one day, and take a tumble down Redmont's Keep. Or maybe you'll be lucky enough to take a dive off a cliff. Do you see where I'm coming from Will?"_

She peered over the edge. Far below, waves crashed into jagged rocks. She heard wary footsteps behind her, and turned to see Halt stepping next to her. He looked over the edge as well, understanding immediately where his apprentice had disappeared to.

_An amused smile broke across her husband's features, a reaction that just proved to infuriate her more._

_"A tree. And I promise not to break my neck. And I promise that when I do fall, my dear, that it will not be the cause of my death. Maybe a few bruises and broken bones, but that's it."_

She saw no sign of Will, other than the fact that the sea foam that the waves were carrying towards to cliff wall were tinged pink.

* * *

_**"And I promise that when I do fall, my dear, that it will not be the cause of my death."** _

And he didn't feel it anymore.

The sensation of falling.

_And he missed them._


	4. Expressionless

Dead.

Horace paused.

He couldn't be. No.

He turned his head, looking for the laughter in one of their eyes, hoping it was some kind of cruel joke. It had to be a joke, right? They always did some stupid joke for his birthday, with  _him_ as the mastermind of it all.

He was always the one to come up with the jokes. Always.

So, this had to be a joke right? He couldn't be dead.

Horace made eye contact with Gilan, across the room. His cloths were soaked deep, and covered in mud. Gil had said they had been late. Late for coming here.

His face, though covered in mud and dripping with rain, was red, mainly around his eyes. When he spoke, which seemed to Horace far away, and muffled, didn't sound right to begin with. Almost as if he had been screaming, and had screamed his throat raw.

Horace turned, looking for Halt, and seeing Alyss. She was sitting on a couch, hugging herself. Lady Pauline was to her left, her arms wrapped around the courier. Halt was to her other side, a hand on her shoulder, and head bent close to her. He seemed to be speaking quietly. Comforting her.

Someone squeezed his hand gently, yet firmly. Horace looked to his side. Cassie. Evanlyn. She had tears streaming down her face. They were holding hands, and her free hand was drifting near her neck, as if it couldn't decide why it had moved.

That's when Horace realized he was crying too.

Duncan was standing behind his desk, hands resting on either side of the large oak table. His head was bent over, and Horace couldn't see his face.

Crowley was leaning on the desk, to the side of Duncan. He looked to be in a state of shock, his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes wide and unfocused, looking at nothing over Gilan's shoulder.

" . . . out of nowhere, Blaze and Tug didn't even know they were there until we were practically surrounded. The horses didn't even get time to react, not until Will was pulled from the saddle. From what I could tell, he had already loosed a few shots, taking down a few of . . . "

Horace stopped listening.

* * *

" . . . them before they even know we are there." Sir David straightened up, and looked over the other gathered knights.

"What if we place a few troops in front of the bridge behind them as well, cutting off any form of retreat? The forest are very thick, just as was stated before. That means they can only go forward or back. We've already established we'll be blocking the front, but blocking the back would be a good reassurance. And it might be a good idea to put a few extra troops in the trees as well." Rodney pointed out the places on the map, indicating the bridge and the forests marked on either side of the path.

Sir David nodded, and seemed to accept Rodney's idea. Then, "But it's just as you say, Rodney, the forests are thick enough to cut off their retreat. While cutting off their retreat from both ends is probably a good idea, putting troops in the trees will be impossible. They won't be able to fight their way through the forest with all of their equipment."

Rodney nodded, and stepped back. He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. That's when Crowley stepped forward.

"Do it the day before. Have your men use minimum equipment, and I'll have a Ranger take a troop or two through each side of the forest. I personally have been through it a few times, and it's really only the edges around the path that are extremely thick. Other than that, I think everything sounds good." The older Ranger smiled.

David nodded, satisfied. "That's good with me. Horace? What do you think?"

Horace, who'd been keeping quiet the entire meeting, looked up. He'd been reading something, a single sheet, but when David called to him, he folded the sheet up, and tucked it into an inside pocket. He had been only half-listening, but he understood what the end product was. Baron Tyler had been setting up small pieces on the map that everyone was gathered by. Horace was able to glance briefly at it, take note of where the Araluen pieces were placed, how the enemy pieces were, and was able to come up with something so say. He vaguely remembered Halt tell him last time they spoke that he had been acting different ever since . . .

He nodded. "What about placing Rangers with the troops that are at each end of the path. That may take up two more Rangers in all, but, as Rodney said, adding that would be a good reassurance."

Crowley glanced up at him. He hadn't thought that Horace had been listening at all, yet the young knight had been able to add something to the conversation and plans. The Commandant nodded. "Yes, that would actually be a good precaution to take. Give the troops extra support."

Everyone in the room seemed to agree. Everyone was nodding, and some even had grim smiles.

Horace left silently.

* * *

"Have we decided who's taking command of each troop?" Duncan hadn't been present at the meeting, having a separate meeting of his own.

Crowley shrugged. "Well, it's already been determined that a Ranger will be with each side. They can at least give any input they want to. Other than that, Rodney and David have volunteered. Halt, who again volunteered, says that he can command a troop perfectly fine by himself. I honestly agree with him. That just leaves one commander and three Rangers."

"Hmm . . . well, I'll leave finding the three Rangers to you. Maybe Tyler-"

"I can do it."

Duncan slowly lifted his head, knowing he knew already who had spoken, because it was only the three of them present in his office. Crowley winced, he too knowing who spoke.

Horace straightened his back, trying to show no pain. His request wouldn't be given if they knew the amount of pain he was enduring at the moment.

"Horace . . . " Duncan started, unsure how to continue, "you're injured. Shot in the shoulder, weren't you?"

The knight nodded, "Yes, but that was over a month ago. I'm not completely healed, but enough to be able to protect myself as well as if I was completely healthy. And I'll have a Ranger with me if anything goes wrong."

Duncan looked unconvinced.

* * *

Horace shifted his shield position. His arm was numb from pain, and he doubted that he could block even a single sword stroke, and a clumsy one at that. The shadows of the men around him were shifting constantly, and he heard Gilan next to him call out for silence.

In the end, he'd won the argument with Duncan and Crowley, but he had to settle with having a check-in with the healer who'd originally patched his arm up. And James, who'd been christened Jamie years ago, was absolutely furious. Yes, Horace's arm was mostly healed, but it was nowhere near what it had once been, and wouldn't be so until at least another month. Jamie went on for at least ten minutes about how Horace wouldn't last a minute in an actual fight; his arm wouldn't be able to support his heavy shield, and would collapse in if the shield was actually hit with anything. He wasn't willing to give Horace the clear to command the remaining troop; the bridge troop, which was placed only to prevent a retreat.

He refused to listen to Horace's protests and explanations, and in return accused Horace of being something near suicidal.

Finally Horace was forced to explain why he needed to be in command of one of the troops.

And the healer hesitated. And then questioned. And when he heard the answers, he paused to think. He then relented. Horace had been called suicidal again by James as he was filling out the mandatory sheet.

Suddenly, a flame flared up, immediately in front of Gilan and him. Blaze and Kicker bucked and reared to the sides, desperately trying to avoid the licking and eager flames. That's when the screams broke the silence behind them.

Had they been ambushed? But-but . . .

Horace's eyes were wide. He didn't notice when Gilan unsheathed his sword, and went forward into the sudden battle in front of them. He didn't see his troops being slaughtered in front of him. He was thinking.

If they were being ambushed, than that meant that either his source was wrong or had lied to him. Put him in a trap, because they needed him dead or taken? Horace shook his head, and finally took the time to look around him.

What he saw was the pure chaos he'd only ever seen on battlefields. He saw both his men and the ambushers men fall to blades and arrows. Horace started to reach for his own sword, intending to join, to help.

His arm throbbed. He hesitated. His head hurt. He'd been having headaches ever since Will . . . Jamie said it was probably a result of his recent depression. Jamie said he noticed it a few months after Will . . . Horace shook his head. He had no right to be in the condition he was, and blame it on Will's . . . Alyss had it worse. She lost her husband. Her soulmate. Horace shouldn't be depressed. He should be sad, yes, because he lost his brother.

Horace looked back through the chaos of the ambush. Through it, he saw one of the ambushers draw a . . . was that a saxe? Or a short sword? Horace watched the man draw the weapon out of an Araluen soldier's chest. The man was dressed differently than the other ambushers. Instead of a uniform, it was just a dull gray cloak over what looked like a forester's clothing. The man turned around, and made eye contact with Horace, even through the fray that was between them.

Horace nearly threw up.

Will's face was twisted in a gruesome smile. His face was splattered with the blood of the soldier that he had just gutted, and his eyes were wide. His eyes. His eyes were blank.

Not blank like he was blind, but . . . expressionless. He'd seen someone's eyes like that before. Alyss. Back north in Macindaw.

It had been five years since Will disappeared - killed. Yet he'd been alive the entire time. Who knows what they did to him.

Horace pulled his sword out, and started to move Kicker into the battle. He looked away from Will, not wanting to stare into those empty eyes any longer.

The Oakleaf Knight blocked one, two, three hits, and cut down his opponent. Easy, as it was instinct for him. Four, five, another down.

He paused, he needed to rest. His arm sent waves of pain every time someone hit his shield. Someone was watching him. Horace turned, and came face-to-face with Will. Or whatever had replaced him, in his own body.

His face was still twisted. His eyes still blank. Blood from the first soldier had dried on his sunken cheeks. His saxe knife was still dripping blood.

Horace didn't attempt to block as the saxe knife slashed towards chest.


	5. Hesitation

* * *

He hesitated.

Sure, some hesitation was expected, but if he hesitated that long, that meant he had to think. And if he had to think, than either what he had to say was an ugly truth that would break them apart forever, or a lie, which would do practically the same thing. Either way, it was impossible to hesitate that long and still mean what you say.

Meaning that his answer was yes.

He had done  _that_.

* * *

He still hadn't answered, not even after he saw the tears form in her eyes. How was he supposed to tell her the truth? How was he supposed to justify doing something like that? It was impossible, not without hurting her.

But hesitating this long would just make it worse.

Closing his eyes, he slowly came to terms that the damage was done. There was nothing he could do.

The damage was done, and irreversible.

* * *

Could she accept a sin like that?

Could she learn to live with that knowledge, and still love him?

* * *

She would never forgive him.

He would never forgive himself.

Who would do something like that? Why did he do it again?

* * *

She wanted to say something. Anything. Anything to break the deafening silence.

* * *

He opened his eyes. He should say something. Apologize at the very least.

* * *

She watched as he drew a hand down the length of his face, as he looked away from her. It looked like he wanted to say something. But even as his mouth began to open, she saw the doubt, the hesitation in his usually cheerful eyes.

He left his hand wavering near his chin, and she clearly saw as he looked down, with his face still turned away.

'One best detectors of lying is the person's body language. Even if the person may seem confident, there is always a telltale. One of the most common is looking away from you, whether it be the persons entire head, or just their eyes, for a second.'

* * *

His mind had already been made up before he even knew what he was planning. Why not continue to lie, bluff your way out?

Without even thinking, he'd already mustered an 'easy' smile, and attempted to relax his posture. He'd even started to push out a laugh, even before he turned to face his wife.

He put himself into auto-pilot, and he cleared his mind of all the doubt he had before. He'd lied plenty of times! Maybe not to her, but how was she any different? He'd lied plenty of times, to a lot more important people.

Forcing himself to look her in the eyes, he immediately noticed the change in emotion. It wasn't that hard to see the difference between grief and furious anger.

But apparently, it was harder to detect her hand.

* * *

He stumbled back, and caught his balance on the edge of the table. His hand, which had started to move down when he started to turn back to her, was now held against his stinging red cheek.

The cocky look on his face was replaced with a confused and surprised expression.

She dropped her hand, which was still partially raised from slapping him. He had been planning on lying to her!

* * *

Alyss was furious. "Get the hell away from me," she snapped.

Will - whoever the hell he was, stood shakily. He tried to step forward, but the look in his wife's eyes warned him not to. Will raised his hands shakily, "Alyss, honey wa-"

"Get. Out."

* * *

That's when Will's mind switched back on.

His eyes widened. After what he'd done? After he'd already hesitated that long? And he planned to lie? No no no no, why?

"Get. Out." His wife repeated.

Will closed his eyes, whispered a few words, and turned and left his cabin.


	6. Something About Alyss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will's reaction to the news revealed in The Royal Ranger, skip this chapter if you haven't read, as it contains spoilers for Royal Ranger. I am aware that a some people have either chosen not to read it or still have to read it.

Ranger Will shifted in his seat, and glanced out the window. It was getting rather dark, probably around eight. In his head, the worry was starting to grate on his nerves, but outside, his demeanor was calm. He was supposed to stay calm in situations like this, right? Halt is probably completely unconcerned.

But she was supposed to come home a week ago.

He dropped the letters, letting Crowley's ramblings slip from his fingers. He stood up, calmly. He made himself walk, calmly, to the door. He made himself open the door, calmly, and step onto the porch. He had to act calmly alone, or he certainly wouldn't act calm around others.

Ebony was lounged on the first step, her soft belly fur free for the rubbing. Sable, Ebony's remaining pup, as the others were given away, was sitting up by the door. She was breathing hard, after running circles along the front porch. Ebony hadn't had the energy to keep up with her pup, as she was getting on in age. But she'd sat by, and barked encouragement like a good mother, which Will had heard inside.

Tug was in the lean-to stable alone, eating leftover grain. The cabin's clearing was empty, other than a squirrel, and a few birds. Everything was as it should be.

Except  _her_.

Will turned back towards his cabin, ready to go to bed. Then Tug knickered.

Turning back around, Will caught sight of two horses. A battle horse and a pony? As they got closer, he was able to make out details. Was that Abelard and . . . Kicker?

The Ranger settled his shoulder on a post, and stood above the steps. Ebony remained at his feet, and he heard Sable start to scamper behind him. She was running laps again.

As they got closer, Will started to notice more and more details, as was his job. Horace was slouched over, and seemed in a low mood, while Halt, even though he was sitting up straight and looked normal, had more of an atmospheric change to him.

Something was wrong.

He knew what was coming, but refused to show it. Refused to acknowledge it. Refused to believe it.

He raised his hand in greeting, and stepped over Ebony. He walked across the clearing to meet them, forcing himself to smile, to act normal. To act calm. But already, he could sense his mask was cracking.

Halt and Horace dismounted, but didn't raise their hands in greeting. They didn't even say hello.

Halt opened his mouth to say something, but Horace held out a hand, and shook his head. He said something.

Something about Alyss, and why she wasn't home.

Something about Alyss, and a fire, at an inn.

Something about Alyss, and a man, Jory Ruhl.

Something about Alyss, and why she wasn't coming home.

_Ever._

His already fake smile was frozen on his face. Then he faltered, felt the smile break. But no tears came.

No tears would ever come.

Not for 3 years.

* * *

_I can't cry._ _My body won't cry. Why can't I cry?_

_Am I not crying because I didn't love her?_

_But I loved her, didn't I?_

_I always loved her._

_So why can't I cry?_

_I want to._

_But-_

_I can't._

* * *

Something about Alyss, and why she wasn't ever coming home.

Not for 3 years.


	7. Orders

Ranger Treaty brought his bow arm up, drawing back the string as he pushed the bow away from his body. From my view, I could see his forefinger touch the corner of his mouth, one of the feathers brush against his cheek. His cloak fluttered out behind him in the wind, revealing the hilts of his saxe and throwing knives – small knives, but deadly in the hands of someone trained to use them.

I watched Treaty release his pent up breath, his eyes staring intently down the arrow, taking aim. Being a Ranger, he didn't have the need to sight for so long, but he was taking his time with this one. When he released this shot, he'd had seven other people to shoot down. He couldn't risk letting these people get too close to him.

As I wasn't standing directly behind Treaty, I couldn't tell exactly which person the Ranger intended for his first arrow. But I could guess. There were eight men and women total, four men and four women. All of them were hard criminals, murderers, and killers. They hung together because apparently they took a liking to the old proverb 'safety in numbers'. Of the woman, there were three brunettes and a red-head. Two of the brunettes looked like they could be sisters, with deep brown skin and extremely curly hair held at bay by strings. The other brunette had darkly tanned skinned, probably Celtic, and her wavy brown hair was chopped short at her shoulders. The red-head had straight hair, cut similarly to the third brunette, but longer. Of the men, two were Araluen, one with light brown hair and light skin, and the other with blond hair. They both had trimmed beards. There was a Celtic man, possibly husband or brother to the Celtic woman. The last man was Nihon-Jan, with black hair.

None of them had spotted the Ranger, despite the fact that his cloak was flowing rather drastically at this moment. The ends flapped and snapped in the air, until finally one fold of fabric caught on a tree.

He would aim for their leader first, the most deadly. I didn't know which that would be, but I had a feeling I could guess.

_The red-head._

The arrow slipped out of Treaty's fingers. The Ranger's bow was powerful. He had a good distance between himself and the group, but the woman still jerked back a fair distance. So I was right.

The other members of the small band started to yell, one of the men fell to his knees beside the woman.

The Celtic man's eyes landed directly on Treaty's hiding spot. And then the rest of the group started running towards his spot, except the Nihon-Jan man, who was still with the fallen woman. Even though she was obviously dead. The three woman were smart enough to move for cover. Two of the men weren't, and I watched Ranger Will snap off two shots, causing the two men, the two Araluen men, to fall over their feet, crushing the arrows deeper into their bodies. The Celtic man was off to Treaty's left, the three woman to his right.

The Nihon-Jan man started to stand. While I was some distance away, I could still see him shaking with anger. His hand gripped his katana, and he spun and started charging towards the Ranger. Will's arrow took him in the chest, and down he went.

How many was that? Four out of eight? He's almost finished.

One of the women with dark skin sped out from the cover of a tree, sprinting for one with a closer vantage point on the Ranger. She tumbled over mid-stride, taking one of Treaty's arrows in her chest. A sudden cry of anger could be heard, and an arrow shot out from near another tree, just narrowly missing Treaty's head. He stood calmly, and took a shot at the Celtic woman who'd showed herself thinking that he was distracted by the recently killed woman's sister. She jerked back and fell to the ground.

That left the Celtic man and one of the dark-skinned sisters.

Everything was still for a few moments, as the ambushed side thought over their current predicament.

A few seconds later, the both charged at the same time, at the spot where Will had been the entire time. He hadn't bothered to move. The woman went to shoot at him while running, but her shot was clumsy, and only left a scar on the tree that still had Treaty's cloak snagged.

Then the man fell to the ground, as Will's arms went up and down, nocking and releasing. His next arrow ended the brief skirmish as it slammed into the remaining woman's chest. Her next shot, which she had just started to draw on, flew wide, and was lost in the forest to Will's right.

My turn.

As Will started to roll his shoulders, I stood up carefully, and put a foot in the stirrup. I gripped the string with both hands, and pulled back, nocking the single quarrel into the small crossbow.

My orders were to let Ranger Treaty finish his mission, as those people had caused us some trouble as well, and we needed them out of the way.

I fell to one knee, and raised the crossbow.

My orders were also not to let Ranger Treaty out of the skirmish area. Just in case, I had slit his horse's throat, as the little beast was quite clever. I was surprised he didn't hear anything, as the horse made a lot of noise. But, I couldn't let Mr. Treaty leave, by any means.

The base of his neck would be a solid target, right?


	8. Illegal Operations

_The stew was cooked perfectly. Ranger Will nodded in satisfaction, noting that the cuts of beef were cooked to the point of little to no red in most of it. The veggies were already soaking in the broth. Using his saxe, he scrapped up the pieces of beef, and dropped them into the stew. Everything was already seasoned, using his usual spices. There was some cut up fruit on the table behind him, with some freshly baked bread and butter placed next to the fruit bowl._

_Alyss hurried in, quickly pushing the front door open and closed. Will had barely gotten a 'Hello' out, before she had closed the door to their bedroom. He stood there, for a moment before he shrugged. Maybe she was in a rush?_

_She stepped out from their room, slower this time, just in time to watch him ladle some of the stew into two bowls across from each other. Neither of them said anything, even as Will lifted his gaze, and met the suspicious stare of his wife._

* * *

Crowley paused, and lifted his eyes from the report in his hands. Will sat across from him, sitting rather lazily. He looked so comfortable, so happy, relaxed,  _unconcerned._

But  _Will_? This report must have had a mistake, or maybe the Ranger who wrote it made a mistake. Will couldn't be the subject of the report! He was a national hero! Halt's apprentice, the guy who made friends with everyone! Will loved the entire country, and the entire country loved Will.

Or maybe that was it. Everyone loved him. He was friends with everyone. Maybe he made friends with someone he should have stayed away from.

* * *

_Husband and wife ate their meal in silence. Usually the small cabin was filled with their laughter, the barking of a dog or two. But neither Ebony nor Sable felt the atmosphere was appropriate for the pup's game at the moment._

_Will was still baffled as to why his wife was acting so strange. She'd never turned her back on him once, and it seemed she was always keeping an eye on him. Never letting him out of her sight. He also noticed that the one time she_ did  _look away, she had glanced towards the door, where his bow, quiver, and weapons belt hung. What was she thinking?_

* * *

Horace glanced into the office. Crowley sat at his desk, one leg sprawled across an armrest. One of his hands supported his face as he read the report in his hand. From his view, Horace could see the Commandant's eyes flicker up every once and awhile towards the Ranger that sat slouched across from him.

The papers in his hand felt weird. He could feel the paper in detail, the parchment rough in his hand. Everything about this felt  _off._ No way in hell would Will do what he was being accused of. It wasn't possible! He was  _Will,_ not a criminal.

* * *

_Nothing between them had been said yet, not even as they did joint dishwashing duty. Alyss wiped down the dishes, drying them, then staked them together. Will had his sleeves rolled up, and his arms submerged in the water._

_Alyss refused to look at Will, and soon Will subconsciously made a point not to look at Alyss. They cleaned in silence._

* * *

"So, ah . . . Will," Crowley started, "have you met anyone lately?"

Will smiled, and sat up. There was a quizzical look to his face. "Um, why yes I have, Crowley, as I tend to meet people daily. As is part of my job, right?"

Crowley immediately rephrased his question. "Sorry, any new people lately? Probably the type of person to do the shadier type of work?"

Will raised an eyebrow. "Is this your new way of asking if I'm following any leads? Because calling me into Araluen to ask if I've been investigating anyone new is a bit drastic."

Out in the hall, Horace let out a breath of air. The warrior didn't know why he'd been holding his breath, nor why he released it. All he knew was that if Will sounded  _off_ by just one bit, that . . . well, that Will couldn't have been the same  _Will_ he knew. He ran a hand threw his hair, and looked back into the room, where he could hear Crowley correct his last question.

"Ah, no, I meant if you've spoken about . . . "

Will finished his question incredulously. "Illegal operations, or participated in any?"

Crowley gulped, and nodded. His nerves were getting the better of him. Will was acting normal, but there was something repressed beneath the surface of his eyes. Something that normally wasn't there.

Will's smiled died a fraction, and an apprehensive look grew. "Ha-Have I done something wrong, Crowley? These sound like questions you'd normally ask a criminal!" The Ranger laughed, but it sounded forced.

The Commandant bit his tongue on his reassuring reply, and forced himself to continue. "Not a criminal Will. A traitor. Can you answer the question or not?"

His unconcerned manner faltered, and his smile cracked completely. Will straightened his back, and stammered out his reply. "N-no, Crowley. I-I mean, 'no' in terms of the illegal operations. May I ask what this is about?"

The older Ranger ignored his question, and continued with his own. "So you have never participated in, spoken of, planned, nor witnessed an illegal operation?"

"Well, of course I've spoken  _of_ them, but never in terms of  _doing_ them. Always in terms of stopping them. And of course I have witnessed illegal operations before, Crowley, it's part of my job."

Crowley removed his leg from the armrest, and sat forward, placing the papers on the desk in front of him. Over Will's shoulder, he could see Horace peek through the doorway every now and then. "So you have never participated in or personally planned an illegal operation, specifically for personal gain?"

" _What?"_  Surprise and confusion cracked his voice, "Personal gain? Crowley,  _what the hell did I do?"_

This time, Crowley gave a pained smile to the young man across from him. "I'm sorry Will, I am. But I have to ask you these questions. We're almost done now."

"But Crowley, what did I do?"

Crowley opened his mouth, and began to explain.

But out in the hall, Horace hadn't peeked around the corner lately, as Alyss had walked up the hall. The two friends listened to Crowley finish his explanation, and continue with his questions.

"Will, do you know a man named Damien Stone?"

Horace knew the name automatically, as that man was one of the main people who'd made it his life goal to get Duncan off the throne. He was one of the more dangerous ones.

Alyss knew it as well. Damien was a nice guy and all, but sometimes he did get a little weird. Especially when Alyss was around. He liked Will better, because he could _'protect himself'_ and ' _handle weapons properly'._ Even though it was proven that she could ' _protect herself',_ and ' _handle weapons properly'._ She was actually better than most of the men in the group, but they didn't like acknowledging it most of the time. But she and Will reveled in it every night.

She smiled as Will began his lie. She leaned against the wall, right next to the righteous warrior, and listened carefully to her husband's perfect lies.

* * *

_Alyss dried her hands on the towel she had been using to dry the bowls, and handed it off to Will. She was about to turn away, but hesitated. "Will . . . " she started._

_He looked up, and their eyes met._

_"Yes?"_

_"Who's Damien Stone?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name 'Damien Stone' will be used as a 'cover-all' name for 'he wants to kill Duncan/cause a lot of harm, he's a bad-guy'.


	9. Who Else?

The arrow was buried too deep into the bark of the tree. He wouldn't be able to pull that out, no not a chance. The dark gray shaft of the arrow was buried into the trunk, at least halfway. Will frowned at this observation. He had been over 50 meters away, and he hadn't drawn his bow back looking for power, just for accuracy. Was he using the wrong bow? He knew he had a higher draw-weight on the bow he took with him for missions, and that his normal, day-to-day bow had a comfortable draw on it.

The arrow shouldn't be that deep.

With no logical explanation for the depth, the Ranger shrugged, tugged his saxe knife out of its sheath, and contemplated the arrow once more. He could either attempt to dig it out, probably ruining the shaft and fletching, and losing the broad head at the tip, or he could just cut the shaft and save the fletching. He put his hand around the shaft, and pulled, just a bit to see how stuck it truly was. It didn't budge. Silently cursing to himself, he swung the saxe knife up, cutting through the shaft easily.

One arrow ruined, eleven collected. Twelve still to be found. He knew he shouldn't have been shooting at random trees, but some days he felt like he needed the time searching the woods for his arrows. Listening to the local wildlife, the wildlife he grew up with, was soothing, especially after a long day. Okay, well, maybe he hadn't had a long day, as he'd only come back from up north, with Halt standing, healthy and alive, and had been relaxing.

Will dropped the half-arrow into his quiver, intending to deal with it later. He went in search of the other arrows.

Recalling his scare up north, a shiver went down his spine. Halt had nearly died, and Will almost,  _almost_ , thought that he wouldn't have made it out of the collapsing cave. He could've gotten shot by one of the Genovesan's quarrels back in Hibernia as well. What would have happened then? If they had been delayed  _before_ Black O'Malley, then they would have been screwed. O'Malley could have left port, he could have gone down into the rocks another time. If Will had been shot in Hibernia, then they would have lost track of Tennyson.

The young Ranger glanced back towards his cabin. Halt, Pauline, and Alyss had been talking for a while, and they were all still inside.

_But I do wish I was the one to get shot._

Lots of things would have been easier that way, right? And Halt would have had more of a chance of going back to his wife. It was sheer luck that they had been close enough to fetch Malcolm.

The next tree had three arrows in it, none of them were suspiciously buried into the trunk, and they were all whole. Will started to dig them out, pressing near where the arrow went in with his saxe knife. Just when the arrow start to budge, he heard it.

_Crack._

That wasn't the arrow. Was it the arrow? Will moved the shaft a bit, but felt no signs that the shaft had actually snapped. So it wasn't the arrow. Meaning . . . someone or something was behind him.

He wasn't in a position to pull his bow out, as it was slung around his back, and he only had half of his arrows retrieved. His saxe was in his hand, his throwing knife still at his side. He glanced over to his cabin again, making sure the door was still closed, that the others were still safely distracted inside. Unless it was serious, he wouldn't want to disturb them.

_Snap. Crack._

Whoever it was, they were practically behind him now. Less than ten meters. It was defiantly a person, and this person was either after his blood, or was completely clueless about who he was, and what he could do.

_Crunch._

Five meters. Will moved his saxe, loosening it from the tree, but moving it in a way where it looked as if he was still digging into the tree for his arrow.

_Silence._

Nothing. Will could  _feel_ the person, and somehow, he had a feeling that the person knew that he knew. He moved his grip on the saxe.

He spun to the left, sweeping a leg out and around, while bring his left elbow around at neck height. His elbow hit nothing, but his leg slammed into the unknown at the knee, and the shadow collapsed with a thump. And didn't get back up. Didn't move. Didn't . . . breathe?

The Ranger stared down at the lump, because that's what it was. It wasn't human, it wasn't an animal of some kind. It looked like a bundle of cloths, nearly.  _What the hell?_

"I'm sorry, Ranger, but I just want'd ta see whatcha'd do. I don't know what I was 'specting."

_I must be having a really screwed up nightmare._

_He must have followed us back from Macindaw. But how could he have managed that? Well, he did manage to sneak up on me. How though? How is this happening? He's dead! Horace confirmed it, Gundar confirmed it,_ Malcolm _confirmed it. Seriously, didn't I confirm it? This shouldn't be possible. It's not possible._

Because  _he_  got an axe in the back.

Because  _he_  fell from Macindaw's ramparts.

Will turned to meet John Buttle's dark eyes, and silently had one last question:  _If he, of all people, are alive, who else is out there?_


	10. The Waltz

Horace crossed his arms. "Will, please. Please don't make this any harder than it already is."

A flash of red-hot anger crossed his friend's face, before it was over-taken once more by the frustrated helplessness that broke the knight's heart. And while his friend's most prominent emotion comforted Horace on whether or whether not Will was involved in this, the emotion that seemed to be actively concealed concerned the tall knight. If Will was innocent, he wouldn't have such fierce anger. If Will was guilty, his helplessness wouldn't be as prominent.

His friend was hiding something.

"Seriously Horace? You seriously think I had something to do with this?" the smaller Ranger snapped back. There was also the irritation to think of, Horace added.

They were standing in front of each other, Horace on the lower step to Will's porch, and Will standing on the porch itself. Even with Horace standing on the lower ground, Will was still slightly shorter then him, but they were closer to eye-to-eye contact, which Horace  _did_ think was necessary for this conversation. The Ranger's cloak could be seen thrown over the back of a chair on the deck, and his bow was currently leaning up against the same chair with his cloak. Horace could see no sign of Will's quiver, but his double sheath was still attached firmly to his waist, with both the hefty saxe knife, and his lighter, smaller, throwing knife.

Horace resented the fact that he had to watch Will for sudden attacks. That he had to scan Will for his weapons, to know if he was dangerous. Will was his friend! Horace had known Will for pretty much his entire life, and he couldn't bring himself to believe that . . .

"Will, I don't know what I'm thinking right now. All I know is that there is a shit-ton of evidence that  _you_ had something to do with what happened to Duncan! And honestly? I want you to prove me wrong! Please, it'd make things so much easier having you help me with this," he's evading the question, Horace realized that, but couldn't help but hope there was another reason as to why.

_Is it possible he's being blackmailed? Or maybe we're missing more then we think, and we're just grasping at straws – deadly straws, hurtful straws – and Will just so happened to be the victim of my colleague's blind reach?_

Will shook his head, grunted, and looked away from Horace. They stood like that, possibly for a few minutes, probably only for a few seconds, before Will turned and looked back into the house.

"Will . . . " Horace started, but the Ranger didn't turn back. He kept his faced turned towards the cabin behind him.

The knight swallowed his growing annoyance, and took the opportunity to look around. He already knew this cabin as well as his own rooms back at Castle Araluen, and little had changed. The clearing was still, the little cabin, which Will had claimed from Halt, was clean and cluttered at the same time, which Will somehow managed to make charming. The small front porch still had the pair of chairs, and –

There were two mugs of coffee on the porch.

Will was waiting for him to leave. He hadn't counted on Horace seeing the cups, or he had forgotten about them entirely.

Now Horace could feel his anger rising.  _Did_ Will have something to do with this? What if he actually did know something?

He recalled the anger he saw in Will's eyes earlier. If something pissed the small Ranger off enough, he would react. Violently, and with purpose. One of the most memorable times Will let his anger get the best of him was in Macindaw. Alyss was captured, and Will took it upon himself to deal with it. He even went as far as to risk a siege with only thirty men. Will even told Horace when they were alone underneath the cart that he wanted to meet Keren to ' _at least put an arrow in his eye socket'_ , preferably not with Alyss around.

Maybe the anger wasn't directed at him. Maybe he had  _meant_ for him to see the mugs.

"You know what, Will? Screw this. Forget I said anything. You want to help me with something? It's in Kicker's saddle bags, so come on." He had left Kicker further from the porch, nearly in the middle of the clearing. He turned to move, and started walking without checking to see if Will was following. He didn't need to check. Footsteps, near silent ones, were following directly behind him. They sounded to Will's normal stride, so Horace didn't worry about someone else other than the Ranger following him.

When he got to Kicker, he threw open the saddle bags, and started to rummage around. Will stood silently next to him, arms crossed, back stiff. After a few minutes of 'rummaging', Horace paused in his search, looked into the saddle bag deeper, then continued he search, seemingly intent on finding what he wanted help with.

"So," Horace started casually, but quiet enough that anyone in the cabin couldn't hear, "you want to tell me who's your new lady friend?"

Will was silent, then " _His_ name is Damien Stone, thanks."

Horace pulled out the dagger he had found months ago, and slipped it into the sheath he'd found earlier, and slapped it into Will's outstretched hand. His friend's face was stone, but there seemed to be a weight lifted from his shoulders.

"Ohh, I know her," Horace said as he closed the saddle bags, and mounted Kicker, "I remember taking her to a few dances a couple months ago. Damn, I took her, but she never danced with me. But she looks killer at the Waltz."

Will smiled sadly, looking up to his friend. "Yeah. I've danced with her a few times myself. Only once during the Waltz. And she is."

"Killer?" Horace asked.

"Killer."

"That's good to know. Hey, thanks for warning me about the Waltz, I was thinking about asking her to dance real soon." Horace moved to turn Kicker around, and back towards the trail before another thought caught up to him. "Oh, and buddy? Keep that dagger on you. You never know when you might need an extra blade."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't get it, Will's 'new lady friend', or his blackmailer, is named Damien Stone. Horace has 'taken her to a few dances' or met him before, but never 'danced with her', or fought with him himself, but he says 'she looks killer at the Waltz', or extremely dangerous. Will 'danced with her a few times' 'only once during the Waltz', or fought with him a few times, only when he was dangerous. The killer part is what it is, 'And she is. Killer? Killer.' Because he actually is a killer. And when Horace says 'I was thinking about taking her to dance again real soon', he's basically implying that he's getting ready to beat the shit out of him for screwing around with his friend.


	11. Senses

Will's forearm was pressed against his abdomen, only temporarily staunching the blood flow. Blood dripped down to his hand, trailed down his arm, dropped down to the ground he was hunched over.

There was so much blood. Why was there so much blood?

He gripped the grass tighter, pulled his arm tighter around his body. He felt the cool grass on his knees . . . but it wasn't dew that was soaking his pants. It was his blood. How long had he been bent over in that one spot?

Breathing was almost out of the question, now. Every time he gasped for breath, he tasted a sick, coppery taste in his mouth. Every once and a while he forced himself to spit out the globs of blood that filled his mouth, even though the process seemed to tip the pain over the edge.

He took his mind off his pain for a minute, and thought what this wound might entail. The dagger had probably ripped open one or both of his lungs. That's why he was spitting up blood. Not many doctors could patch up a ripped lung. Will paused. Could any doctor patch up a ripped lung?

Not that he's heard of.

Another wave of pain washed over him, and any thoughts of  _any_  doctor left his mind. He gasped, felt his legs give out from underneath him.

One arm splayed out ahead of him, no longer gripping the grass in hopes of staying on his knees. His other arm was trapped underneath his body, directly on the wound. Pain coursed through his body, screaming at him to move his arm, move his hand, he couldn't  _breath_  with it there. He had to move it, he  _had_  to.

But he couldn't gather the strength. To move his arm would mean to lift his weak body high enough to slip his arm out from under. His arm was probably glued to the wound, from dried blood, from wet blood, from blood somewhere in the middle.

How long has he been here, bent over the pool of his life blood?

The wound stopped throbbing. Stopped hurting. Stopped hurting so fast, so abruptly, that it made Will gasp out, even though there was no pain to feel?

Is this what death feels like? He could still sense the blood-soaked grass against his cheek, but he could no longer feel it. He knew it was there, by some sixth sense, but couldn't feel it. Maybe, as he died, he lost his senses. First to go was touch.

And then sight.

Everything went black. The light, mid-day forest he had been lying in went black, and he could no longer tell where he was. He wasn't in the forest at night, but he wasn't  _gone_. He could still hear something out there, meaning he wasn't dead.

He hoped taste was next to go. He was getting sick of the coppery taste in his mouth. He hoped he didn't throw-up in his last minutes. He'd rather not have his pants full, and have his head in a pile of vomit when someone finally found his body.

His body.

He was so sure he was going to die, that he even started to refer to himself in the past-tense. As an object.

And then his hearing went. He no longer heard the sounds he couldn't identify. He didn't hear the comforting white-noise that he had become used to.

Left was taste and smell.

While he'd rather not die, he honestly couldn't wait for those two senses to go. His face had fallen into part of his puddle of blood, and while he had stopped trying prevent blood going into his nose, he didn't like the smell. Coppery.

His mouth still tasted coppery, but most of it was fading now. He hadn't coughed up globs of blood in a while. He wondered if that was because his lungs were now completely submerged in blood, and he just needed to go into unconsciousness to finish off this dreadful experience.

That's when he noticed he didn't smell copper anymore. Only taste it.

Never . . . mind.

* * *

He woke with a start, jerking forward in his bed. He felt a rough feeling cloth rub against his abdomen, and soon realized that the cloth was rubbing against numb skin. And that the cloth was a bandage.

Will looked around him. He was in Redmont's infirmary, in one of the private rooms. He was wearing loose pants, but no shirt, other than the bandages. His oakleaf dangled off its chain, bouncing against his chest. His wedding band was still firmly on his finger.

"Ahh, Mr. Treaty, you're awake." Will looked up to see Redmont's head doctor standing in the doorway. Brown hair, brown eyes, with a friendly face, James made friends quick, and had even become friends with Will.

Will smiled slightly. "I - I'm not dead?"

James, the doctor, laughed. "No, thankfully. Ranger Halt found you late at night a few days ago, in a puddle of your own blood. He got you back here, and I did my job. You were stabbed in the gut, thankfully missing your lungs. It was a rather deep stab, though, so I have no idea how you didn't lose blood faster than you did, or how you're even alive. You bit your tongue when you were hit, probably filled your mouth with even more blood. I'm surprised you didn't pass out from blood-loss earlier than you did, but we were able to stop the bleeding without any difficulty. Oh, and the wound itself seemed . . ."

Will let his head fall back into the pillow. He closed his eyes, and let himself be lulled into sleep by the white-noise made by James talking, and moving things around. So he had bit his tongue. His lungs hadn't been filling up with blood.

Well, that's a relief.


	12. There's Nothing to Worry About

_"Hey Halt," Will started, "would you mind passing me the co-fay?" Behind him, Horace snorted, then swore as he splashed coffee down the front of his shirt._

_Will pretended not to notice._

_Halt sighed, and responded. "No, child, I can't pass you the 'co-fay', because there isn't such a thing as 'co-fay'."_

_Horace choked, but neither Will nor Halt turned to help._

_"Actually, a 'fay' is a term used for saying 'to join, or closely fitted', so one would assume that 'co-fay' would mean that there would be an auxiliary or companion 'fay' along with the first 'fay'."_

_Horace went silent behind him, and this time Will turned to face his friend. The knight's white shirt was stained with the dark brown of the coffee, and his pants weren't in much better condition. But his friend's face wasn't expressing hurt or discomfort, but confusion. Turning back to Halt, he got much the same look from his mentor as well. Will shrugged._

_"Either way," Horace stood up, and walked back to the small campfire they were sitting around, "when do you think we'll be making it to Seacliff? Cassie wants me back at Araluen by the end of this moo-unth."_

_This time Will barely stifled his laughter._

_Halt didn't find this so amusing though. "'Moo-unth'? Can you supply a definition for that one as well, Horace?" He said, icily._

_The two young men had been doing this for their entire journey. Returning from down south, the trio would be passing Seacliff on the way back, and so decided that it would be easiest just to drop Will of there. He would send in a report, while Horace and Halt would stop at Araluen to give their reports in person to Crowley. Halt would then set out by himself to Redmont. As it was nearing Halt's birthday, though, the two young men just had to do something special._

_And so they started to mispronounce every word at the end of their sentences, unless the word was too short to mess up._

_Horace shrugged, and smiled. He threw a glance towards Will, before saying, "No, sadly I can't. But maybe our live dictionary can?"_

_Will gave him a wolfish smile. "Well, 'moo' is the sound a cow makes, and that's the only definition it has. I have no idea how the hell you came up with 'unth' though. And we'll be in Seacliff in the next few days, hop-fie-le."_

_Halt's eyes were getting darker and darker. "Oh, please do tell the definition for that one."_

_The young Ranger took a gulp of coffee, and stirred the stew he was making on the fire. Horace looked at him expectantly, while the look in Halt's eyes said 'I dare you to try'._

_When they were younger, that look would have scared both Horace and Will away, and would have gotten them to stop whatever they had been doing. In recent years though, Halt has found that it wasn't as effective as before._

_"Well," Will started, "'Hop' is another word for jump, usually intended for a small, vertical jump. 'Fie' is an expression used to show disgust or displeasure. 'Le' is actually a suffix meant to show force. So, technically, adding all of those definitions together, one would assume that 'hop-fie-le' would mean that someone does not like hopping that much."_

* * *

Will smiled sadly. Hard to believe that that conversation had taken place two days ago. That he had been so happy, practically care-free, literally so soon before  _this_ happened. He opened his eyes.

He was standing on Seacliff's battlements, leaning forward over the edge. He wasn't staring at the enemy force that was laying siege on the small castle, nor the dozen boats that could be seen if one looked to the right as far as they could. He was staring at the small town, that stood just outside Seacliff's walls. Whoever had taken siege, was burning it.

And shooting down anyone and everyone who tried to escape the hungry flames.

He turned away from the gruesome sight. He wanted to force himself to watch, so he knew what they felt, but he had work to do.

The enemy had breached the front gate.

* * *

_Will turned back to Halt and Horace, readying himself to say goodbye, even though they had all agreed to meet back here in three days. He would miss them. He always misses them. It would only be three days, but he still does. He couldn't help it._

_He didn't have to worry about anything. They'd be in Seacliff in three days, nothing to worry about._

* * *

Will's feet dangled, centimeters above the stone flooring of the reception hall. The man's burly hand had wrapped nearly completely around his neck, crushing his windpipe. He couldn't breathe. With every breath he took, it seemed the man tightened his grip, and raised him higher off the ground.

Is it possible to grow that big? That strong? Will was a small man, fairly light, and ridiculously short, but  _still._ This intruder was holding him by his throat, with one arm, and least a half meter above the floor and their faces weren't on the same level yet.

The Ranger tried to breathe again. He gasped out, hoping to catch some breath fast enough, but the man tightened his grip, making Will unable to get the breath he needed. The room was going dark. Will's grip on the guy's arm was getting lighter, looser. Will heard more than felt the groan come out of his mouth. His vision started to go completely black. He felt his feet raise higher.

Then the man's grip suddenly loosens, just enough for him to gasp a breath. The black doesn't go away, but its fast encroachment was halted for the time-being.

He could hear someone yelling. They sounded vaguely like Horace.

He felt his arms drop from the larger man's arms. He let himself dangle there, by his throat, in another man's fist.

Whoever was yelling was getting angry. Their tone was getting louder, more stressed, but definitely angry.

He felt his body jerk around a bit, as the large man started to laugh, or it seemed that way. The man had a loud guffaw, loud enough to make Will's head pound. But not loud enough to bring him back from the edge of unconsciousness.

That's when Will felt himself lifted high. Higher than before, so high Will was almost sure that his head was above the man's head. Now why would he do that? His grip on Will's throat hadn't tightened at all, but it didn't loosen and more. Now, why -

Will felt his body swing, felt it be brought low, too fast, and too  _horizontal._

Someone started yelling.

As Will's head collided with the stone flooring of the reception hall, Halt's arrow slammed into the huge man's throat. Horace rushed forward, ignoring Halt's warning to ' _stay down'._

All Horace saw when he got to his friends place on the floor, was blood. The enemy had brought Will down hard enough into the stone floor to crack his skull. Blood was soaked in a sort of halo around Will's head, but it didn't look as if the pool was getting larger.

Horace bent over his brother. There was already bruising on his throat, deep dark purple and blue. Horace gulped, and felt for his brother's pulse.

* * *

_"I'll see you two soon, hop-fie-le." Will said jokingly, before turning his back on his father and brother. He put his arm up, in farewell, but didn't turn to look back. I'll be seeing them in three days, anyways, he thought._

_There's nothing to worry about._


	13. I Can Do Anything You Can Do

Someone was banging on the door.

Will jerked up from his place on the couch, Alyss flinched, and they both groaned. Will started to stand up, realizing that it was probably someone who needed the assistance of a Ranger. Alyss grabbed his elbow.

"C'mon, hun, we never have time to ourselves anymore." She tried to pull him back onto the couch. Instead of pulling away, Will leaned forward into her pull, and kissed the side of her jaw.

"You know I can't just ignore it," Will whispered. "Hopefully it doesn't take all night this time."

His wife dropped her grip on his elbow, a mischievous glint suddenly visible in her grey eyes.

"Fine," she said, standing up before he saw her grin. She walked towards their room, rounding the couch, and closed the door behind her. She made sure not to slam it in her excitement. She didn't want Will thinking she was mad at him. Well, she was annoyed, as his work kept interrupting them, but she wasn't angry. Just impatient.

She smiled, and slipped her dress over her head.

Back out in the main room of the small cabin, Will had opened the door, scaring the young man who was standing on the porch.

"Yes?" Will asked, letting his annoyance creep into his voice.

And the man on his porch heard it. His white-blonde hair was plastered to his forehead, probably from sweat, as he was breathing hard and looked as if he had been running. His brown eyes widened as Will flung the door open, and a slight fear could be seen in his eyes.

"R -- ra-Ranger Will?" He asked tentatively.

The young Ranger just stared at the man. His collar was open, showing his collarbone and his oak leaf clearly. The silence was amusing yet annoying to Will, as it was taking away time he could be with Alyss, yet he liked seeing this man squirm.

"R-right, I guess t-th-that was obvious."

Will raised an eyebrow, and motioned for the man to continue. When a look of confusion showed on his face, Will angrily snapped, "What do you want?"

The man, who later introduced himself as Jay, flinched at Will's tone. "W-well, Ranger, y-you see, I live in H -- h-ha-hav --"

"Haven? South of here." Jay nodded, and clenched his hands together in front of him. Will motioned for him to continue again, realizing that being hard on him wouldn't make him talk faster.

"W-well, lately, there's b-been this man hanging around th-the inn," Will bit back a sarcastic remark, and nodded. The man continued gratefully, "ev-ever since he's showed u-up, you see, things ha-ve gone missing. Ju-just recently, he's start-started to rob people outright. Wh-when he robbed my niece, I considered coming to you, but it was night, and I told myself I’d be safer from this man if I c-came to you in the morning. That was yesterday. This morning, I started my walk here. Along my way, I found a body. I-it was an older man, I think one of our town watch-men, and it looked l-like he was s-stabbed in the back. He had announced yesterday that he was going to co-confront this man.”

Will bit his lip. A robber turned murderer. Sounded like he actually needed to go Haven. He looked over his shoulder guiltily, towards his closed bedroom door. Alyss wouldn’t be too happy, but she would understand. He turned back to Jay.

“You said you left this morning from Haven. Even walking, that would have only taken a couple hours, four max. Why are you only showing up now?”

That’s when Jay started to panic. It was evident in his eyes, with a bit of guilt mixed in. “I-I-I I got l-lost, s-s-sir.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. And they both knew that the other knew it. Whatever this was, anyway, it was serious. A murderer could not get loose just because he wanted to spend the night with his wife.

He sighed, “Fine, wait here.”

Shutting the door in the farmer’s face, the Ranger stood there, staring at the thick wood door, for a few moments. He would have to tell her, while getting dressed. Most likely, he would promise the next night, or the next, and something else would come up. One of these days, he’d

have to just ask for a short leave from Crowley. But, for now, he realized, he was going to have to get dressed and ride an hour south and arrest or shoot this guy for murder and robbery.

He turned just as he heard his bedroom door open.

Alyss stood in the doorway, and she was holding his cloak. But she wasn’t wearing her white dress that she had been wearing minutes before. Now she was wearing dark brown pants tucked into her knee-high riding boots, a dark green shirt, and a leather jerkin. She was in her riding clothes. She wanted to come with.

“No.”

She crossed her arms, and grinned a wolfish smile. “Yes I am.”

After having been married to her for four years, Will knew that she had her mind set. “Please, honey, this one is actually serious. I’d rather you just stay here.”

“And spend the night by myself? Like hell, Treaty. I’m coming with whether you like it or not.” She threw his cloak at his head, and walked back into their room. Will followed behind her, having caught his cloak before it hit. Alyss went for her saber, which was leaning on the wall by her side of the bed. Will threw his jacket on, and tightened his collar, before throwing his cloak on over his shoulders.

He was about to walk back into the main room, before he turned back to her. “There’s no way –“

“Nope.”

Will turned right back around, quietly chuckling to himself, "Now why did I ever think there was?"

* * *

 After riding the hour south, Jay the farmer asked if he was required to accompany them to the arrest.

"I-I I'd rather -- I'd just rather not, please R-ranger."

Will felt Alyss bury her face in his back as he took a deep breath. For the entire hour, Jay the farmer had unsuccessfully attempted to start a conversation. Will, having lost his patience in the first ten minutes, limited his responses to grunts. Alyss, riding behind Will on Tug with her arms wrapped around his waist, tried to respond to his attempts, but she painfully fell flat. A half an hour into the ride, Alyss leaned forward, and hissed into Will's ear, "Is it always like this?"

He didn't reply.

So, when Jay asked, neither of them argued, eager to be away from the awkward company.

When the farmer was out of sight, Will turned Tug's head towards the south-east.

"Why this way?"

Will put his hand over her's, "How long ago did you stop listening to our friend Jay? He said that this man was last seen on the road between Haven and Custly, about five minutes before he left us."

"You were listening to him?"

"Yeah. Just in case he gave anything away unknowingly."

"Unknowingly?"

Will hesitated. "Did I not tell you?"

Alyss looked suspiciously at the side of her husband's face. "Tell me what?"

He glanced back at her, meeting her eyes for a second, before looking forward once again. Will let go of Tug's reins, letting the horse guide himself, as his other hand was holding his bow. He placed a hand on Alyss' thigh, and said, "When he originally came to our door, and before I went in to change, I asked him why it took all day for him to get to Redmont from Haven. He said he got lost. It was obviously a lie, and there's not many reasons as to why he would lie. The most likely is that he was working with them. Second is that he was being blackmailed."

"And," there was ice in her voice, "did you not think this was something I needed to know before we left?"

"Ahhhh," he was facing straight ahead, and she couldn't see his face, "well, um, I . . . um . . ."

She waited.

“I, well, I didn’t –“

Alyss let go of Will with one hand and pointed ahead of them. They were traveling on the main road between Haven and Custly, the moon illuminating their path. A large lump could be seen in the middle of the road ahead of them, not moving. Tug stopped, just five meters from it.

“Honey.” Will said quietly.

“Hm?”

“Do me a favor, and stay on Tug.” He swung down from the saddle, as Alyss unwrapped her arm from around him. The flap that covered his arrows was pushed away, and she noticed that he already had an arrow nocked. He approached the body warily, stepping slowly. To her, with her husband’s hood up, it almost looked as if he was only focusing on the lump in front of him. She looked around her, into the forests on both sides of them. Nothing seemed to be moving, or particularly dangerous. Even though he seemed to be just focusing on the body, she knew he was observing the setting around them, as well as the lump.

The woods around them seemed so silent. Almost unnaturally silent.

The courier looked back to her husband. He nudged the lump with his foot, his bow at half draw. He seemed to hesitate, and look around. He looked back at her, but she couldn’t see his face beneath the shadow of his hood. He started to turn back around, but halfway through the turn, he seemed to freeze. He was looking to the part of the forest to her right.

Then he turned back to Alyss, and walked towards her. When he got to the saddle, he put a hand on her knee, and motioned for her to lean down to him. He put his mouth to her ear, “We’re being watched. I’m going to go into the forest on our right, but the person is on our left, okay? I’ll circle around further down the path. Don’t unsheathe you’re saber, but be ready just in case.”

He was about to pull away, but she gripped his shirt. “I know how to take care of myself. What I’m concerned about is you.”

Will kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be fine. I’ve done this a thousand times.”

* * *

 Whoever he was, he had muscles bigger than Horace’s. He could be seen through the gloom and dappled shadows, attempting to hide his bulk behind a tree.

After slipping into the forest to his wife’s right, he walked along the path until he was sure he was far enough away. Even though he could have just walked into the forest, and crossed in front of his wife, it was better to be sure. After having crossed the small road, now on the left side, Will retraced his steps. And that’s when he found the Double Horace.

Will himself was crouched by a tree only a meter from the man’s back. His bow was on his back, it being too tall for the thick forest and catching things even out of his hand. I should have left if back with Alyss, he thought. Then he shook his head, Alyss should have stayed back in Redmont. It's too dangerous.

He slowly moved forward, stepping silently, his saxe gripped in his hand.

Something collided with his back, throwing him forward, and into the large man. Something went around his throat.

* * *

 Will opened his eyes to see the ceiling of the infirmary.

He could tell it was the infirmary because of his bed. Infirmary beds were stiff and uncomfortable, and no bed he knew was as uncomfortable as an infirmary bed. He went to move his back, and pain flared up. He groaned.

“Will?”

He turned his head to see his wife sitting cross-legged on the next bed over. Her blond hair, which had previously been pinned up behind her head, messily framed her face. Her hair, face, and clothes were covered in mud and dust. There was a small cut through her pants on her thigh, but otherwise, completely uninjured. And she looked annoyed.

“Alyss?”

She grimaced. “Yeah, hun.”

He was going to ask how he got back here, but he paused when he heard her voice. There was something else she wanted him to ask first.

“What the hell happened?”

She grimaced again. "Well," she started, "when you went to circle around, you didn't realize that someone else was behind you as well. He shot you with a crossbow. Then the other guy grabbed you --"

"Wait, what?"

Alyss glared at him. "That's right. You were being followed. Now, may I continue?"

"But --"

"Look, honey, you're not perfect. Ranger's aren't invincible."

"I was going to ask," Will laughed, "if you were okay?"

She looked away from him, heat suddenly crawling up her face.

* * *

_"Hey!" She snarled at the man standing over her husband._

_The man didn't hesitate. Instead of plunging his sword into Will's gut, he swung it around, without even looking behind him. For anyone else, his swing would have been around neck height, but Alyss was tall, and it would have slammed into her side -- if her saber hadn't been there first. She parried his sword, stepping inside his reach while she did so. And she didn't hesitate either._

_Alyss gripped her dagger in her other hand, and shoved it into the man's gut. As he was trying to back away from her when she stabbed him, he stumbled and fell to the ground next to Will._

_Glancing at her husband, seeing the blood soaked in his shirt by his shoulder, the bruises around his throat, but still seeing his chest rise and fall, she felt the rage grow in her. She looked back at the ambusher, who was trying to get to his feet, but could even get to his knees. Alyss stepped closer and used her foot to push him back down to the ground. Now she stood over him._

_She stepped on the hilt of her dagger, and pushed it further into his gut. She didn't lift her foot until he stopped breathing._

* * *

"And after that?" Will murmured.

She crossed her arms and shrugged. "The man who'd shot you tried to get me. Completely missed. After that, the guy just ran. I'm so dirty because I couldn't find you at first, and my clothes got caught in a few bushes."

"Why were you looking for me in the first place? I told you to stay there!"

Anger suddenly flared in her eyes. "First off, don't tell me what I can and can't do. I was looking for you because that farmer Jason or whatever his name was came to apologize. Yes, he lied, but he lied because it was your second guess: he was being blackmailed. That's what took him so long. I went to find you because of him," Will looked as if he wanted to interrupt, but she waved for him to stop, "No, let me continue. I just saved your ass, honey. I can protect myself. I can do anything you can do. My sex shouldn't what I can and can't do," she stood up. "Now, stop acting like I can't do anything for myself."

Will closed his eyes. She was right. He did do that. He assumed that because she was a woman she was fragile. Looking back at her though, he pointed out, he's the one who's injured. Not her.

He nodded, and opened his eyes. She was looking at him warily, with a hint of surprise in her eyes. They both smiled.

* * *

Halt walked in to the infirmary. He was rather keen on seeing Will after hearing that he got injured in a job. Although, he'd also like to see Alyss, and fine out why she was with him in the first place. He turned towards the row of beds, and saw only one occupied.

Alyss was lying by Will's side, her face resting by his neck, her body close along his. Will had his arms around her, pulling her close. Their legs were intwined, Alyss' meeting the end of the bed while Will's feet were at her knees. They both seemed to be asleep, curled into each others arms so naturally. They both had slight, amused smiles on their lips.

Halt smiled as well, and left the infirmary, satisfied.


	14. Will's Peril

_Will could see Gilan at the end of the small alley way, approaching from the other side. The figure between them was still unaware of their approach, still crouched over something on the ground. He stepped silently forward, a task which was easier then he was used to, as he was stepping upon cobblestones rather than a forest floor._

_The two Rangers wore common clothing, not forester clothing, or their normal Ranger cloaks. As they were in a city, they had to fit in, blend in, as well as they could. Blend in so they could tail their target._

_They stood meters from the Genovesan. Gilan had a hand on his sword, which was hidden underneath a black threadbare cloak. Will had his saxe held against his leg. The taller Ranger moved to put his sword against the back of the assassin's throat, hoping to take them back alive. Will stood where he was, there only as back-up if something went wrong._

_As the tip of the sword touched the back of the Genovesan's neck, Will felt a burning sensation at his knee. Involuntarily, his leg collapsed underneath his body._

_He heard Gilan snap something at the assassin over his own cussing._

_The knee and below was throbbing, and as he turned his body to view the wound, and seeing a crossbow bolt sticking out of his kneecap, he could only think of one word: "Shit."_

_"Shit, shit, shIT." Will looked up to only see Gilan standing, without his sword, in the middle of the alley a few meters from him, with a crossbow at his feet._

_The Genovasan was gone._

* * *

After helping Will back to the small inn they were staying in, patching his friend up as best as he could, and just seeing him pass out in one of the two beds, Gilan started to pace. Currently, Halt was in the town over, collecting information that they would need later in the mission. Except, they couldn't go on in their investigation for two reason now: they didn't have the Genovesan, and Will was shot.

_Will was shot._

Gilan glanced back towards the younger Ranger. He was curled on his side, an arm underneath a pillow at his head, and a pillow between his legs for his injury to rest on. His injury, which seemed to have cracked his knee cap in half, going through his leg. Would he ever be able to walk again? He bit one of his knuckles. Now that he thought about it -  _Will was hurt._  Should he call Halt back in? Would they abandon their target, and get Will back to safety? So he could heal?

Will had seemed fine when bringing him back to the inn. When he had actually gotten shut, Gilan had heard words even  _he_ hadn't heard, and that was saying something. He was also convinced he had heard Will cuss in at least four different languages. The young Ranger had been fine, but when they had gotten into their room, and set Will up on the bed, he had passed out immediately. It also looked as if he was in a deep sleep, rather than the light sleep. Was there something wrong?

He ran his hands threw his hair, and just stared down at the sleeping Ranger.

_Will is shot. Will is hurt. He's hurt because I couldn't get the Genovesan. Halt told me to take care of him. What if he can't walk again?_

The tall Ranger gulped. He'd have to send for Halt, but he couldn't just leave Will alone. Especially in a city where a Genovesan or two were probably lurking.

He'd have to send someone.

* * *

Will wasn't any better a week later, and even though Gilan had sent someone, Halt wasn't back. He was getting rather concerned too, because it seemed his friend might have caught some type of virus or the wound was infected. In the few times Will had woken up, he'd either been really tired and dazed, or he'd been speaking clearly, but calling Gilan 'Halt' or 'Alyss'. Was he hallucinating?

A week after letting his friend get shot, not knowing what was wrong with him, he had worn the wooden floors down with his pacing.

Where was Halt?

* * *

A week and a half late, Halt had walked through the door. He explained to Gilan that the kid hadn't been able to find him because he was  _undercover._ That's when he realized that Will wasn't standing, or talking, and was actually still curled up on the bed, bundled up with a few blankets, and a pillow still between his legs.

Halt had asked what had happened to him, and Gilan explained in detail.

The grizzled Ranger didn't say anything for a few moments, before specifically asking: "The Genovesan shot him?"

"Yeah. She had been covering her crossbow somehow, and when I went to apprehend her, she shot out at Will."

After another brief conversation, Halt saying something about not being able to get to 'Malcolm' in time, wondering if he remembered 'the list', even though he later sent Gilan out to go get a few things off a list.

And that's where Gilan had gotten himself to. Halt said he'd stay with Will, if Gilan remembered to get a few things from the market, specifically a plant called 'araconia'. It had taken himself longer than he had expected, as the stall had two araconias, a blue and a white. Since Halt didn't specify, Gilan bought both.

The tall Ranger sprinted up the stairs two at a time, and ran down the hall to their room. He hadn't meant to take that long at the market. After fumbling with the key once, twice, he finally fit it in, and slipped into the room with the brown back held between his elbow and body.

And he saw a scene he was dreading.

Halt was knelt by the front of the bed, holding one of Will's pale hands. Instead of Will's head being turned to face Halt, as if they were speaking, it was covered with a white sheet.

He let the supplies drop.


	15. Make Me the Villain

Will smirked at Horace's objections, and glanced over his friend's shoulder, to where King Duncan still argued his Ranger's loyalty to the insistent visiting royal. Before Horace could say something more, Will put a finger up to his lips, signaling silence. Horace shut his mouth, but kept the stubborn look on his face. The Ranger's smirk widened, wolfishly, reminding the Knight of Halt.

"If he wants to label me the villain, Horace, let him," Will murmured, drawing his eyes back to Horace's face. While he looked annoyed, and somewhat worried, his stance was wide, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his head tilted slightly to the side, waiting for him to continue. They were standing close, closer than what normally would have been comfortable for two men, who were just supposed to be talking. Horace didn't tower over Will, not completely, or drastically. While not standing chest-to-chest, they stood so Horace's crossed arms brushed Will's arm that was supporting his elbow.

When Will didn't elaborate, the Knight glanced angrily back into Duncan's office, before taking the Ranger by the elbow, and dragging him closer to the wall, so they weren't standing in the middle of the hallway. He hesitated when they got there, though, and instead took him down a smaller, less used, hallway that branched off. Currently, they were alone.

Horace poked Will hard in the chest, which ended up pushing him against the wall. "What the hell are you talking about? He has no right to question  _anyone's_  loyalty, especially because he's our guest." Will shrugged in response, and the grin, which had been momentarily wiped off his face when Horace dragged him into the hall, came back completely. His hands, which lay slack at his waist, started to tap a tune on the wall. Horace stepped closer, his finger still pinning Will to the wall. "And even though he was talking about  _that,_ he still has no right. That's Araluen's business, not his. Sonderland has nothing to do with us."

"He sorta has a point, though," the Ranger pointed out.

"How! How does he have a point? That's none of his business. In fact, it's literally between Duncan, me, you, and the others. How the hell does he even know?" Horace stepped back, and turned his back to Will. He started to run his hands through his hair, and Will watched him for a few moments, repeatedly bringing his hands up his temple, dragging them through his light brown hair, and gripping some of it in a fist when his hands got to the end.

Will shook his head. No distractions, get to the point, he told himself. "Well, he's calling me traitorious, that I betrayed Duncan's trust, as a Ranger, and should technically either be banished or hanged. He's arguing because Duncan is actually refusing to do either of them, and is actually accepting my actions as 'assistance to the kingdom, in a time of need'."

The Knight gave him a nasty glance over his shoulder, and turned away again. "And it's Duncan's decision, Will. Not that royal ass's, not mine, not even your's. Just take what you can Will, please."

"But I literally,  _literally,_  betrayed the kingdom, Horace. I took up arms against you guys, that check one. I plotted against you; check two. And I am literally  _still_ working with those idiots, still speaking, still friends, even though they are technically wanted criminals. Check three, I'm out."

"Yeah, but that's illegal activity approved by Duncan."

Will threw his hands up into the air. "Duncan isn't above the law! And it was only approved  _after_ it happened."

"So? It was approved, and as far as anyone is  _supposed_ to know, it was approved the entire time!" Horace finally turned to face Will. Now, most of the annoyance that had been previously etched on his face was gone, leaving just the plain concern. He was fighting a losing battle, moreover arguing his friend's innocence to himself rather than to the actual friend.

Will stepped closer to Horace, and the tall Knight didn't protest when Will placed a hand on his arm.

"Horace, you and Duncan can't get out of this clean if you try and save me from the full force," he started softly, "I know what I did, completely. Make me the villain, I can take the entire hit. I've learned more, believe it or not."

The Knight turned to look at Will closer, their faces centimeters apart. Now he was just sad, and the lost look didn't leave his eyes, even as he looked at the Ranger - technically  _ex-_ ranger. Horace's eyes traveled down Will's body to his feet, then back up, pausing every once and a while to just stare. When Horace's eyes finally came back up to meet his own, that's when he saw it. The cold finality, the look he would get when he realized he'd have to do something he wouldn't like. Horace reached out, and silently placed a hand on Will's arm, the same that Will gripped him with. A message seemed to pass between them, and they dropped their hands simultaneously.

Expecting him to raise the alarm, Will set his feet as if he was about to sprint, but instead, Horace just turned his back to the ex-Ranger. Will watched Horace walk down the deserted hall, a morose look to the stoop of his shoulders. When he turned the corner, he didn't look back, and Will didn't sprint.

Instead, he walked down the opposite way. Before he got to the end of the hall, he unclasped his cloak, and let it slide off his shoulders. Beside it, he dropped a necklace.

One Horace would find later, and keep.


	16. Nature's Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: "Would you kindly write Halt/Will father/son angsty lovey lovey lovey love angst. Thanks" ... "Sorry for the vagueness. I was thinking a scene when Will is very sick, with a fever or worst. And Halt is sorta panicking. Yelling at the healers. and Will is smiling at his mentor saying everythings ok, but its not. And Halt is just loving him."

For who knows how many nights, Halt had watched over Will whenever he was sick. Even times when Will was no longer his apprentice, if Will got sick, Halt would be there. He'd always been by the young man's side in times like that, equally for his own comfort as well as Will's. And it was the same vice versa, as well. Will looked after Halt when he was sick, sticking near no matter how many times the grizzled Ranger insisted that he was fine.

So now, it just didn't seem right that the healers were kicking  _Halt_ out of the room when Will needed him.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He snapped, his hand instinctively dropping down to the hilt of his saxe, only to remember that he wasn't wearing his knife belt when his hand met air.

The movement wasn't lost to the healer, a dark haired youth with a plain face, and  _he_ instinctively stepped back, out of Halt's reach. "R-Ranger, really, there's not much more to be done! It's not like he was poisoned, and we can just give him an antidote and have him on his feet in a few hours." The young man saw the anger rise in the bearded man's eyes, and he quickly continued, "He's sick. A bad sickness, yes, but it's really all nature's work. I can give him something to make him rest, to help his body heal itself, but I can't do much more. Nature gave it to him, it's up to nature to take it away."

Halt opened his mouth to snarl something at the doctor, but before he could get the words out, a weak voice spoke out from behind him. "Give him a break, Halt." He immediately pulled back, out of the healer's face, his hand away from his imaginary saxe hilt. The voice spoke again, "Quinn, would you mind giving us some privacy?"

Quinn, the healer, quickly turned on his heels and fled out the door, leaving them alone.

Turning around, Halt faced his former apprentice. Will was sitting up in the bed, leaning against multiple pillows piled around his head and back. Everything below his waist was covered in multiple layers of blankets, while his top half was only clad in a thin shirt. His arms were crossed, and he had a wry look to his pale face. Just as the healer Quinn stated, the young man was sick, in Halt's opinion severely so, and he'd been bedridden for a few days. He was also thin, unhealthily so, due to whatever illness ravaged him at the moment.

Halt knew it wasn't just a simple case a pneumonia.

"Why were you attacking Quinn like that?" Will murmured, leaning further back into his pillow.

"I wasn't attacking anyone. I don't have my knives."

Will sighed, looking extremely tired, and closed his eyes. Quinn was the third healer Halt had 'asked' to come in, even though they all said the same thing - only time would tell. Time and time again, Will attempted to tell his mentor that even Malcolm would say what the others were saying. That's when Halt wondered out loud if he should go ask Malcolm for his opinion.

"Will, you know why I'm doing this." Halt said softly, but when Will looked up, Halt was facing away, out the window.

"Then listen to them." Will replied, smiling to himself. His smile spread just a bit as Halt turned to look at him, but all the grizzled Ranger saw was how tired and worn the young man seemed. "Seriously, Halt," Will continued, as if he didn't feel Halt's scrutiny, "I'll be fine. I _feel_  fine, I don't see why everyone is making such a fuss."

* * *

"You really don't seem fine, Will. Malcolm -" Will interrupted his mentor's suggestion before he even finished it. The younger Ranger was currently bundled underneath the covers, with nothing below his chin showing. He seemed to be shivering, but the room felt like a nice temperature to Halt.

"No. We don't need to go and drag Malcolm here for something he can't even do anything about," he snapped. And before Halt could say anything in protest, he continued. "And stop snapping at Quinn. He's just doing his job, and you're just making it harder."

"But that's it! He's not doing his job!"

Will shifted slightly underneath the covers, and glared at Halt. "No, Halt,  _you're_ not doing your job. Instead, you've been here watching me like a hawk. Quinn can't do anything, so it's literally from the kindness of his heart, and his fear of you, that keeps him coming here to check up on me every single day, when he only needs to see me if it gets worse."

The older Ranger paused, and stared down at his son. There was a moment of silence between them, Halt momentarily shocked, and Will just plainly pissed off.

"What're you saying?" Halt asked, knowing that Will had counted on him to see the underlying message in his words, but also knowing that he hadn't seen them.

"Leave me alone, and go do your job," Will turned on his side, facing the wall and putting his back to Halt.

* * *

After staring at Will's sleeping figure for a few more moments, he finally turned on the healer.

"It's getting worse, and you  _still_ refuse to do anything, huh?" This time, he had his knife belt around his waist, and his hand easily rested on the hilt of the saxe.

Even though the fear was evident in Quinn's eyes, he gulped, and said, "Sir, I'm not refusing to do anything. It's just I  _can't._ From what I can tell, this type of illness isn't that common, and from what I know, there's really nothing you can do but wait. I -"

" _Wait?"_ Halt snarled, "Meaning wait for him to die?"

Quinn gulped. The Ranger wasn't going to like what he had to say next, but he wasn't going to lie to the scary man. He had a feeling the Ranger would be able to tell. "Ahh," the healer hesitated, "well, either that, or wait for him to get better."

Halt, with Will not awake to stop him, started forward angrily towards the healer. Before the grizzled Ranger could actually draw the saxe, though, Quinn scurried out of the room, murmuring apologies as he left.

* * *

_"I'll be fine. I_ feel  _fine. I don't see why everyone is making such a fuss."_  Halt remembered him saying. Now he stared down at the prone figure on the bed. Every once and a while, his chest could be seen rising and falling, but nothing more. Sometimes the breath would come late, and Halt's heart would be in his throat, until the breath finally came. Sometimes the breath would come fast, and the body would jerk with slight coughs, but no noises made it to Halt's ears.

He faintly sensed the healer Quinn moving around behind him, but Halt didn't stand to confront the man.

Mainly because he was afraid that when he finally turned back, the inconsistant breathing would have stopped.

"Ranger Halt?" A voice behind him asked. Halt turned to see a Redmont staff standing behind him, with Quinn standing beside the door, leaning against the table, and staring at them with a glint of interest in his eyes.

"Yes?" Halt said quietly.

"There's a citizen requesting the help of a Ranger downstairs. He says that there's been an uprising of thievery on the roads heading out of Wensley."

Halt sighed inwardly, and faced Will's still form once again. He would have to leave.

* * *

 

The grizzled Ranger stood in the doorway, staring at the bed where Will was supposed to be. Instead of seeing his apprentice's head peeking out at the covers, and his head resting on the pillow, the entire figure on the bed was covered by the white sheet that was normally just spread out at the end of the bed, in case he got cold.

_I'd only been gone for the rest of the night,_  Halt thought numbly.  _And now he's gone._

He felt hot tears prick at the corner of his eyes as he continued to stare at the bed. Quinn stood behind him, strangely antsy and stepping from foot to foot, rather than the normal somberness of healers when a patient of theirs dies.

Halt went to turn around, and push by Quinn, but something stopped him.

"Are you gonna continue to stand there, or are you gonna help me finish this breakfast?"

Halt's head snapped around, and faced the table that was partially blocked by the open door. Sitting on the far side, with a large plate piled with breakfast foods in front of him, sat Will. Wearing his bed shirt and pants, with a blanket thrown over his shoulders, he sat cross-legged on the chair, and his hair was sticking up in places from it's long-time placement on the pillow. His face was rather pale and thin, but the light was back in his eyes, rather than the dullness that had been present whenever he was awake.

Will swallowed a mouthful of food, and motioned to the chair next to him. "Seriously," he said, "Chubb apparently got  _really_ excited when he heard I was up, and insisted that I would need a lot of food to get my weight back." Now he motioned to the plate in front of him with the fork in his hand, "But I can't eat all of this by myself. Want some eggs?"

Glancing behind him, he saw Quinn finally standing still, with a small knowing smile on his face. He mouthed  _What did I tell you?_ and turned on his heels. Halt turned back to Will, a question on his lips, but Will held up a hand. He had a mouthful of food in his mouth, and Halt waited with a confused, possibly slightly concerned, look on his face. When Will finally swallowed, he put down his hand, and said:

"Seriously. Take some eggs. I think Chubb gave me a full kilogram worth of eggs."


	17. Repentant Artifices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted as a multi-chap story, I decided to abandon the story. This is all of what I had up.

Above him, the Ranger could see the twinkling stars, a spread out expanse that never ceased to amaze him. It wouldn't rain that night, that he was sure of. He sighed, content. A simple job, no rain, and he'd get the weight off his chest of the possible traitor. But this job would only get done if he saw a face. This time when he sighed, it wasn't contentment. Moreover, it was rather resignation, an understanding that he still had an hour's ride ahead of him, and if he missed the meeting, that would lead to weeks and weeks of even more searching for the supposed traitor.

The Ranger looked away from the array of sparkles above, and moved to mount his horse. As he could tell the weather from looking at the sky, he could tell the time of day by looking at the moon and stars. He didn't have an hour to waste.

* * *

Laying flat on his stomach, he stretched out on the small rise above the bandit camp. He was close enough that he would be able to recognize people, such as the bandit leader, Kieran Arevalo, who was standing outside the main tent speaking with his second-in-command, Peyton Reis. Keiran was shorter than his deputy, with short brown hair, and, what the Ranger knew but couldn't see, brown eyes. The bandit wore plain clothes of a commoner, a white shirt, jerkin, with some knee-high riding boots over brown pants. He looked like a normal man, not a dangerous, murderous, leader of one of the biggest bandit groups. The one who looked dangerous was Reis. Peyton Reis, a tall woman with jet black hair, and, again from what the Ranger knew previously, hazel eyes. Her skin was darkly tanned, giving her a Tuscan look. She too wore knee-high riding boots, but unlike Arevalo, she wore leather armor protecting her chest, thighs, and arms. Underneath she wore black, as far as the Ranger could tell. What concerned him the most was the rapier at her side, and the twin stilettos in thigh sheaths. There was no sign of a weapon on Arevalo.

The Ranger was too far away to tell what they were saying, but they were in deep conversation. The rest of the camp moved around them, big bulky bandits carrying great swords on their back, smaller bandits carrying daggers or rapiers like Reis. There was a fairly equal split of man and woman, and they were all extremely dangerous.

He bit his lip, wondering why Duncan or Crowley would allow this large of convergence of deadly killers.

One of the smaller bandits came running, sprinting through the crowd and weaving, his direction always towards to two conversing leaders. The small man, who seemed no older than a boy, in the Ranger's opinion, spoke urgently when he finally arrived in front of Arevalo and Reis. The Ranger's eyes, glued to the trio, didn't notice the approaching figure until they had nearly made it to Arevalo, Reis, and the scout. His heart stopped when he spotted the figure.

The fanning Ranger cloak cleared the crowd for the man underneath it, giving him a straight walk towards the leader.

Hatred bubbled up the hidden Ranger's throat, furious at the thought that one of their own would be the traitor. He gripped the hilt of his sword, so hard his knuckles turned white.

When the Ranger reached Kieran and Peyton, the scout ran off, the bandits stopped staring and went about their business, and the Ranger knocked back his hood.

Everything stopped, at least for the Ranger.

He had unruly brown hair, and was about the same height as Keiran. He had a large smile on his face, one that anyone could tell was natural for the man. He had the standard double scabbard with a saxe and throwing knife, a quiver on his back, and a bow made of unusually dark wood slung across his back.

Gilan remembered when Will showed him that new bow. He had made it himself, proud of the fact that he had finally managed to get the bow of his desired draw-weight, which was above what normal Rangers would use. The trick was the type of wood, the younger one had claimed, and that he just had to find the right type of wood to get his higher draw-weight. Apparently, the darker wood was the answer, but when he asked Will what wood it was, he had sheepishly grinned, and said he didn't actually know. But, he tried to amend, I would recognize it on sight, given that I find it again.

As angry as he was, Gilan wriggled back from his vantage point, and only stomped away when he was sure he couldn't be heard or seen.

The tall Ranger mounted Blaze, a quickly urged the mare into a gallop.

"I swear," he muttered to himself, "I'm going to kick that little shit's face in next time I see him."


	18. Before, During, After

George settled down into his seat, suddenly intrigued with his find. He'd just been about to place the thin volume in his hand back on the shelf when his eyes finally landed on the title. Beforehand, he'd never heard of the book, and assuming it must be a one-of-a-kind, excitedly snatched it off the shelf. When he opened it, he realized it was a journal, as it was written in first-person narrative, and was actually written inside a leather-bound notebook you could find in Wensley - and this one was actually from Wensley as well, the mark of the leatherworker was in the bottom left corner, on the back.

He felt the pages. They weren't old or falling apart, practically brand-new. The ink on the page wasn't chipping off, and all the words could be read in a neat, though vaguely familiar, handwriting.

Leaning forward eagerly, the scribe placed the book back on his desk, and turned the page to begin reading. It was a thin book, he'd be done by dinner.

What George didn't stop to question is how. How did the book get where it was? In his room, sitting on his shelves above his personal desk, when he didn't place it there?

* * *

_**Before** _

_In all honesty, I have no clue as to why I choose to write this. Before is gone, During missing - hopefully forever - and I, After, obviously don't have the best memory of all time. Before can attest to that . . . If he were here, of course. And since Before is gone, and I don't have the memory, I asked to have everything filled in for me._

_While these aren't my own memories, I trust the person who is telling me without a doubt. He just doesn't trust During . . ._

Before him, Gilan crossed his arms. Will vaguely heard his older friend snap some kind of reprimand at him, but his ears still pounded with the deafening sound of the waterfall. Not hearing what had been yelled at him, Will shrugged, hoping that his action lined up with what was said.

Gilan threw up his arms in frustration, and stormed out of the small cabin. He was able to hear the slam of the door, and flinched in reaction to his Commandant's violent response.

That was when Will was last seen, before he disappeared for years.

_At least, that's what Horace tells me. He was standing behind Before, shaking his head the entire time, or so he tells me. Apparently, the mission Before returned from failed, as he was caught. As Before was escaping, he hid behind a waterfall, and lost whoever was chasing him. It was a critical mission, so that was why Gilan was so mad._

Will placed his head in his hands, his inability to hear anything coupling with his pounding head didn't do too much to make this day any better. The Knight behind him moved forward, and placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. He went to say something, but realized it wouldn't be heard anyway. Instead, his gripped Will's shoulder a bit harder.

The Ranger just shook his head in his hands, and hunched his shoulders forward. Horace attempted to pull him up, and turn Will to face him, but his attempt was met with resistance. Will pulled his shoulder out of Horace's grip, and stood up. He seemed unsteady, so Horace held his arm, but was again pushed away.

"Fuck this shit," he heard the Ranger mutter. Surprised by his vulgarity, Horace let go of his arm. Later, he regretted that he let go.

Will shouldered his way around Horace, and moved towards the door that Gilan had previously slammed. "Hey, Will, let's talk about this." But he couldn't hear, having hidden behind a waterfall the night before, and slammed the door behind him.

Horace regretted it already.

_. . . and so, I guess you could say that Before isn't 'gone', but merely missing. That's where the story of During comes in, who, while I claim 'missing', is always lurking. I can sense him, always, looking over my shoulder, just waiting . . . waiting, and waiting, for his chance to jump forward, and take control._

* * *

George turns the page, and sees During printed in bold at the top. He hesitates.

He now knew where this notebook came from - his old wardmates. Will Treaty writing it, but it being entirely Horace Altman's memories. Or at least the last part.

Why was Will referring to himself as 'Before' though? And 'After'? Did that mean he was 'During' as well? And if he was During . . . then why did it seem as if he was happy During was missing? And why did he seem afraid of this 'During'?

The scribe glanced out the window.

Last time he'd seen Will was before he'd disappeared for five years. A messenger from Araluen had arrived at Redmont a few weeks ago, and when the man'd finally left Baron Arald's office, the Baron had left with a large smile on his face. George later learned Will had been found, but he hadn't learned the details. All he knew of his wardmate's return was that he  _had_ returned, and that Horace refused to leave him.

It was noon outside, and the bustling of the castle could be seen out in the courtyard. He should go get lunch. George glanced back down at the journal in front of him.

He should learn who this 'During' truly is.

* * *

_**During** _

_When you meet During, which I hope you never will, he'll seem innocent. You wouldn't expect the bloodshed he has brought about, just by himself, to come from someone who looks like him. And I realize how this will sound, once you know everything, but it's the truth. Don't trust him. You could have easily trusted Before, and After really depends, but never - not ever - would I recommend trusting During . . ._

"None of it makes sense, though! He's spotted in Caraway, and his men are reported in Seacliff! Who's leading them? Why is Damien Stone letting someone lead his men? Why the sudden trust in someone else, when he showed no trust beforehand?" The Knight asked, facing Duncan instead of Horace, who was technically the one who knew the most to answer the question.

The King acknowledged Sir Neuman's questions, but turned to Horace, who was sitting slumped just to his right, and motioned for him to answer.

"We're figuring that he found someone easily manipulated, that -"

Sir Neuman interrupted, worsening Horace's headache. "But he's never trusted anyone beforehand! Why now?"

Horace took a breath, and continued, "We're not saying that he trusts whomever is leading his men, basically -"

"It just doesn't make sense, though? Why? Why would -"

"Maybe," Horace snapped, "I could explain it if you would stop  _interrupting me._ "

The table was silent. Next to him, King Duncan raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sir Neuman, who was sitting further down the table, felt his cheeks go red. Everyone else just sat awkwardly, suddenly uncomfortable. For the past few years, Sir Horace's temper had been getting shorter and shorter, possibly started by the disappearance of his close friend Will Treaty five years ago. And even though he still wasn't the type of person to start throwing punches, his anger was fearful, and not many people wished to be on his bad side. Sir Neuman realized that he just found his place on that side.

After sitting for a few more moments in the silence he'd created, Horace continued. "He found someone easily manipulated, someone with a bloodthirst equal to his own, or just below. Or, he made someone."

Duncan waited a few moments, just to be sure he wouldn't make the same mistake of interrupting his son-in-law, before asking his question. "Made someone? What do you mean by that?"

Horace's eyes darkened, but this time it wasn't directed at anyone in the room. "Meaning it's possible he just chose someone off a whim, and forced them to be who he wanted them to be. Not exactly as trustworthy, but depending on  _how_  he made them that way, it'd be possible."

"Hmmmm, you seem to know a bit more than Master Stone may like . . ." Came a reply that sent chills down Horace's spine.

At the end of the table, with the door thrown open wide, with the two guards normally stationed at the doorway fallen over and unconscious, stood a man in all black. Normal clothes, dyed black, with something that look vaguely like a cloak, but with sleeves. The hood was thrown up, casting the speaker's face in shadow. But it was unmistakeable to Horace.

Before he could do or say anything, Duncan was standing. "Who are you, and what right do you have to be here?" The monarch's voice was restrained, and oddly quiet. There was anger in his eyes, but also a realization that they were in a dire circumstance.

"Well," the man said, watching as Horace slowly stood next to his father-in-law, "apparently I'm the 'easily manipulated' pawn of Stone's."

Suddenly, he just left. Turned his back on everyone in the room, and left. There had been three of his own men behind him, and they fell in behind him, just walking out the door.

Sir Horace surprised everyone by hurrying across the room to follow them.

_Horace says that when he made it to the hall, he looked both ways, but saw nothing. It was as if During had never been there, as if the guards unconscious at his feet had just fallen over. He never understood the point of the visit, as it tipped them off as to where Will Treaty was._

Next to him, Gilan lay still. Horace still couldn't understand how the Rangers were able to stay so still, for such long periods of time, but after so long, he was used to it. He had lost count of how many times he'd layed next to Will, always fidgeting, but his friend next to him remaining completely still. That is, until he turned towards his larger, and louder, friend, to tell him to stop moving.

Horace sighed. It just wasn't the same without Will.

Before them lay Damien Stone's men's camp. In the center, During was talking with someone, still wearing his cloak-like jacket, still with the hood up.

"You see it?" Horace whispered. No one had believed him when he said what he had seen. If he was proven wrong, he'd have lost all respect in Duncan's court.

Gilan was silent for a long while after Horace asked. If Gilan denied his claim, they'd have mobilized Knights and men-at-arms, and three Rangers, for little reason. They'd still catch most of Stone's men, but their main purpose would have been destroyed. Horace's heart was in his throat.

"And you saw this when you'd only gotten a brief glimpse of him? And not even a face, at that?"

Horace gulped. "Yeah. After spending your life with someone, you start recognizing them by more than just their face."

The commandant wiggled back without replying. Horace turned and crawled after him, realizing that they were returning back to camp. "So?" He asked, when they were both standing and walking away from the enemy's camp behind them. Without turning to the Knight, Gilan grinned.

"Let's go get our friend back."

_Horace and Gilan's main objective was to scatter the men, but the main reason, in all honesty, he told me, was the capture During. He refused to tell me the details of the battle that ensued, but he explained that he'd asked for During to be taken alive. And to leave it to him. The next thing he jumped to, without telling me anything in-between, was that they put me in a cell, and they left him alone with me. I vaguely remember what happened here, but not the best. I remember my ankle being chained to a wall, with a small amount of chain giving me some room. Horace sat on a chair, near the door, just across from me. All I remember is him just sitting there, barely moving, not looking at me, but at the wall above me._

As he sat up, Horace let his eyes finally land on the figure across from him. During raised his head partially, but the hit he'd taken brought around another round of pounding. He ducked his head lower, but his arms raised his torso higher.

"How's the head?" Horace asked, keeping his voice monotone.

"Leave me alone." Came the reply.

"Must not be feeling the best."

"No shit." During snapped back.

Horace shifted his seating, and watched as the mercenary moved himself into a sitting position. "I have to ask you some questions. Are you well enough to continue?"

"Fuck off." Was the only reply he received.

The Knight took a deep breath. "Tell me about yourself."

That made him pause. "What?"

Horace repeated what he said, only for the man he once knew to burst out laughing. "W-what? Oh my god, are you serious?" During studied Horace's face for a few moments, before turned away. He shook his head. "Wow. You are completely serious." During continued to study the Knight, before shaking his head once more. "Gimme prompts."

The Knight nodded, expecting nothing to be given away without prompts. "Name?"

"Will."

"Last name?"

"Don't have one."

"Never?"

He shrugged. "Never have, probably never will."

"What about when you were a kid? You're parents? You get your last name from them."

During shrugged once again. "Don't remember when I was a kid."

"How much do you remember, then?"

Suddenly, he looked rather uncomfortable. "That doesn't matter. Can we go on to the actual questions?"

"How much do you remember?"

Anger flashed in the Merc's eyes, and he turned away.

Realizing that he probably wouldn't answer anyways, Horace asked a different question. "You're boss is Damien Stone, correct?"

"Kinda obvious, don't you think?"

"Where's he at?"

"Why would I tell you?"

Horace smiled wryly. "True. Why do you listen to him?"

"Who says I do?"

"You saying you don't listen to him?"

He started to laugh again, it sounding painfully familiar to Horace. "Not like I have a choice."

"What would happen otherwise?"

"I don't know, last time it was fifty lashes." Horace's head jerked up in surprise. Lashes? Damien  _whipped_  him?

"What're you so angry about? You don't know me."

"How much do you remember, then?"

Again, During clenched his jaw shut.

"You know the name Will Treaty?" Horace leaned forward, intent now.

"I know the name. Never met the man."

"How's that? A mercenary like yourself would be bound to have run across one of the most famous Rangers."

The merc scoffed, "I thought you were his friend? Hasn't he been missing for five years or so?"

"Mmmm." Horace nodded, hoping that his message would be relayed. A few moments later, and . . .

"What the hell you trying to get at?"

"How much do you remember?"

He didn't respond.

_Due to During not being that cooperative, Horace had no choice but to set up a trial. Revealed to be Damien Stone's second-in-command, they wouldn't be merciful. Horace could only hope that something would come up beforehand, such as During remembering Before._

_What actually happened wasn't exactly what he was hoping for. Again, Horace refuses to say what actually happened, for some reason, but he says that . . . well, that during the trial, During had seen some kind of signal, and somehow took the bow from the Ranger standing near him. Damien Stone appeared at the entrance near his back with a few of the other higher-ups in his 'organization'._

Horace stood with his hands up, level with his head, with his former best friend pointing a razor sharp broadhead at his throat. He didn't have to wonder if it was possible if he would miss or not. Everyone else in the room was completely still, including Gilan, who was still on the floor after taking the hit from During.

Damien Stone stood comfortably behind During, smiling slightly. He was confident, Horace could tell.

In a language Horace didn't understand, Damien spoke, apparently to Will.

_(Horace didn't understand the language, but many people remembered the words spoken. I still don't know how, but I recognized the words for what they were, and will write it down translated.)_

"I am glad to see that you stayed loyal, dear Will. It would have been a shame if we had lost you."

During's eyes flicked off Horace briefly, but not for long enough for the Knight to act. Either way, it would have been too dangerous, especially in the presence of Stone.

"Of course, m'lord."

"Mmm," Damien turned around, looking at the room full of people. He nodded, but of course no one knew what was being said, and so no one said anything in return. "Will, what was said to you?"

The mercenary shrugged. "Questions. About myself, about you. Also someone named Will Treaty." A brief flash of doubt crossed his face, but was quickly covered. His eyes were suspicious, never leaving Horace.

"Treaty? And what about him? I thought he's been missing for years."

"He has, sir. Just as he," During jerked the bow at Horace, and continued, "confirmed. Though, it honestly seemed like he was trying to say something else."

"Something else?"

This time, surprisingly, During took his focus of Horace, not turning his head, but enough so he could see Damien. "He was hinting at me being Treaty?"

Damien was quick to school his features, but not quick enough for During, it seemed. Something flashed for a millisecond in the bandit commander's eyes, but it soon became amusement.

"That's definitely a new one! Wow, Duncan, you seriously are grasping at st-" whatever he intended to say afterwards, however, was soon to be a mystery.

During took his aim off Horace, and swung his bow arm around. Seemingly not aiming, he released the arrow in Damien Stone's direction.

_. . . And because During made that fateful choice, here I am. After._

_**After** _

_What would have happened if During chose otherwise? Would he still be running rampant, doing Damien's every whim, without a thought? Or would he have eventually gotten sick of being second, and go out for himself? Kill Damien?_

_But, now that I think on it, it would have always been this way._

_Before is Before no matter what. Call him what you will, Will Treaty or Before, it's him, and always will be._

_During only happened because of Damien. Because Damien wasn't satisfied of already having everyone do as he wished - he wanted someone who would do it with a grin on their face, and still be willing to_ live  _afterwards. And while he never got exactly what he wanted, he did destroy Before in the process._

_Which just left me with these pieces, what was left of Will Treaty . . . After._ Me.

_So, do you see why it could have only been like this? It's always like this._

_There's always a Before, During, and After. . . It can't just be two of them. For Before to become After,_ something _had to have happened. Hence, 'During'._ _There can't just be a Before, one by itself, either._

_Because what fun is that?_

* * *

George was about to shut the leather bound book, finally finished, before he saw the inking on the very last page. The story Will had inked in hadn't been long enough to fill the entire journal, and so there was a few empty pages at the back. It seemed the last one was used as well.

_For After, who will never understand why it happened. So you will remember._

_For During, who does not acknowledge the amount of pain he wrought. So you can comprehend._

_For Before, who is too damaged to realize what happened. So you never will._


	19. Watchers

A woman in a white dress stood beside the Baron, conversing on a topic unknown the the figure standing beside the Keep's entrance. She stood with natural grace, with medium length pure blonde hair that softly curled to her shoulder blades. He couldn't see from here, but he knew her storm grey eyes were focused in on the man she was speaking with, most likely about some unimportant business he'd learn later.

He shifted his weight. The weapons at his sides were digging into his hips, probably leaving marks.

A musical laugh floated through the courtyard, through the thin crowd and to him.

She was always so graceful, so elegant. Yet it wasn't lost to the watcher the darkness under her eyes, the worry etched into her. Remembering correctly, the watcher realized that her husband had agreed to return in a week, yet the third week had just passed. Promising to be back in a week, and being gone for a month usually meant that the person was dead, or taken. While she wouldn't have reason to be worried about her husband much longer, it still pained the man in the shadows to see her in that state.

The Baron noticed as well. He set a hand on her shoulder, and seemed to lean forward with a comforting word. The courier smiled, but appeared to insist that she was fine, and wanted them to continue. The Baron looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway. They continued to speak, quietly.

It didn't make much sense to speak in the courtyard where anyone could overhear, but he doubted it mattered. Just made his mission even easier.

The watcher set a hand on one of the weapons at his side, and walked confidently over to the pair. No one else in the courtyard seemed to notice him, and the two seemed equally oblivious to the man's approach. The Baron only noticed his appearance until it was too late.

Will sweeped his wife up in his arms from behind, where he momentarily lifted her, and when her feet touched the ground, she spun. There was surprise and a brief flash of alarm, until her eyes landed on her husband. With a hand still around her waist, he planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Sorry, I'm late, aren't I?"

* * *

 

A watcher was looking out of a window near where the couple had their happy reunion.

The young man was obviously tired, and possibly injured. His cloak wasn't in bad condition, but if he looked hard enough, he could see minor tears in the fabric. Same with his jerkin and trousers. His messy brown hair had grown a bit, enabling him to tie it up behind his head. Being gone for so long, he'd grown some scruff, but not a full beard. He'd probably shaved once or twice in the time that he'd been gone, but not recently.

The watcher had seen the young man lead his horse in, too. The small horse seemed to have a limp.

Promising being gone for a week, and being gone for a month, it was obvious that the man had ran into some trouble on the standard bandit run. The man in the window wondered what held the young Ranger back for so long.

Halt stood up from the window, intent on learning if his apprentice was okay. He'd be damned if he was to  _wait._


	20. Behind Trees

With no warning whatsoever, Horace's hand shot out, grabbing Will's arm, and dragged him to the ground. The two friend's tumbled to the ground, Will's head partially colliding with a tree trunk, and Will's elbow slamming into Horace's gut.

They laid there for a bit, Will stunned at Horace's sudden, odd, motion, and Horace seemingly too afraid to stand up. Will laying next to the tree, and Horace flat on his back next to him.

"What," Will started when his brain finally caught up, "the hell was that for?"

The Knight rolled over, and stared at the Ranger. There was a pause before he spoke, "Are you serious?"

"What?"

Horace roughly grabbed at Will's cloak, near his side. Paying no attention to Will, he dragged the material from underneath him, until practically the entire cloak was in between them, save the hood and the sections of the cloak that were wrapped around his quiver. Jerking Will around even more, Horace began searching the cloak, around the area that would have been near Will's back. Quietly crying out triumph, Horace shoved a finger through the fabric, revealing a hole that had gone unnoticed. The Ranger stared blankly at his friend. Horace quickly searched the ground around them, keeping his finger in the hole in the cloak, until he glanced up a tree trunk behind them, parallel to the one they were currently lying beside. He pointed up the trunk.

It took a moment for Will's tired eyes to pick out the smaller piece of wood, but when his eyes finally saw it, his face drained of all color.

Sticking out of the trunk was a crossbow bolt.

Watching his friend's eyes flick back and forth from the hole in his cloak, which still had Horace's finger in, to the crossbow bolt that was wedged into the tree, was a tad painful for Horace to watch. Normally, Will was the quick thinker between the two, yet here he was, trying to figure out the connection between a hole in a piece of clothing and a crossbow bolt.

Will's eyes slowly narrowed. "Did that," he pointed up to the bolt, "go through my cloak?"

Horace untangled his hand from the cloak. "Actually, it would have gone through you as well, if I didn't drag you down." He laid back down next to Will and the two of them stared up at the night sky between the branches of the trees.

"Thanks." Will mumbled.

The two of them were out chasing a large group of bandits. They technically were just supposed to find their location, and then travel back to Redmont for a group of warriors to raid the group, but something had gone wrong. While observing the large group, an amount large enough that the two of them couldn't fight without dying, the unthinkable happened.

_Will_  sneezed.

Not Horace,  _Will._

That's when the chase started. The bandits didn't seem to understand the meaning of "giving up", and the Ranger and Knight had been running for at least three days. Away from their horses, stupidly enough. Will had lead them in the wrong direction, completely forgetting that they'd circled around when going in for observation. Luckily, they were going in the direction of Redmont, but the castle was still probably a week away.

Being unable to sleep, the two were slowing down. Will was no longer comprehending things as fast, mainly because he was more sleep-deprived than Horace, which was the effect of having twin toddlers. Horace, while having more sleep than his shorter friend, was wearing down as well.

Will rolled on his side, and curled up, bringing his knees to his chest, and wrapping his arms around them. He buried his face in the ground, and groaned.

"I just want to get back. Get back, to Alyss, the kids. Even Halt, no matter how much I want to punch him at the moment."

Horace laughed. He knew they didn't have much time before they'd have to get up again. The bolt fired at Will had been a lucky shot, and they hadn't made any noise when falling. It was only a matter of time before the bandits found where the pair laid.

"I want to get back just to see Halt's face. Can you imagine how horrified he'll be when he finds out how screwed over we are with this one?" Halt had claimed being too old to go out on missions anymore, even though he refused to officially retire. That left Will and Horace to do the Special Task Force job.

Next to him, Will groaned again. "Us being screwed is kinda my fault."

Shrugging, Horace glanced at his friend beside him. He couldn't be too comfortable with his face in the ground, and speaking at the same time. "It's not like you did it on purpose, bud. You didn't mean to sneeze, and you didn't mean to lead us in the wrong direction. Actually," Horace paused, and then continued, "if you think about it, it was really a choice. You could have brought us back around to the horses, but we would've had to circle back around to get to Redmont."

"Which would have been easy, with Tug and Kicker," came the muffled reply.

* * *

"I should have gone with them," Halt muttered. He glanced out the window again, but the scene was no different from when he glanced out a minute ago. Neither of the two young men were walking through the gate, and, being a few days after their predicted return, Halt was starting to get worried.

Which was nothing compared to what Alyss was feeling, but she didn't let that show. Caitlyn was lying on her lap, partially asleep. Daniel was wandering around their grandparents apartment, randomly bumping into things, unaware of the tension in the room.

"Halt, you've no clue as to why they're late," Pauline murmured. She touched her husband's shoulder, and held out a cup of coffee. He absentmindedly took it, thanking her. He didn't drink it.

Pauline turned to Alyss, who was sitting on the couch across from Halt. There was a question in the older courier's eyes.

Alyss nodded, claiming to be alright. Even though that's not what she felt.

* * *

Will watched Horace, a silent laugh in his eyes. The Knight was doubled over in pain, arms around his ribs. Not only were they both tired now, but they both had been in a few scuffles, clashing with a few bandits that had been stupid enough to approach on their own. Will had a bruise coloring in on his left cheek, and dirt covered him. His lip was split as well, but that didn't stop him from grinning at his friend's pain.

Horace had been fairing better than Will, until another bandit took the Knight by surprise.

"The hell you laughing at? I probably just broke a few ribs," Horace snapped. Will leaned against a tree trunk, and shook his head.

"I guess we're equal in injuries, now?" The Ranger snickered, crossing his arms against his chest. The only response Horace gave was a glare, until Will gave in. "Fine. Let's get going?" He said, holding out a hand.

* * *

Mounting Abelard, Halt doubled checked that he had everything. Of course, he  _did_ have everything, and he knew he was just nervous he would find the two young men covered in blood, but he let himself check again, if only for the minimal comfort it would provide.

Halt moved Abelard towards the gate.

"Halt!" The older Ranger turned, and saw Alyss exiting the Keep. He waited as she walked towards him, until he held out his hand to stop what she would say.

"Alyss, I'll bring them back. Both of them. And I realize that you'd want to come, but with Pauline leaving for her mission, there's no one to watch Caitlyn and Daniel," he smiled, apologetically.

Surprisingly, he got a glare from the courier. "And I know that," she crossed her arms, "I was just going to say to bring them back  _alive."_ At that, she spun, and stalked away.

Halt stared wide-eyed after her.

He told himself as he was leaving, that if he didn't find them, or didn't find them alive, that he wasn't coming back.

* * *

Having no arrows left, Will threw his bow to the ground, drawing his knives. He backed up a few steps, until he felt his quiver connect with Horace's back. It probably wasn't the safest idea to back so close to the Knight's back when they were fighting, but considering his other options, it was his best.

They were surrounded.

_This is all my fault._

He blocked a few cuts with the double-knife defense, but he was never taught much more in ways of knife  _fighting._  Will felt blades cut into his flesh, below his eye, his arm, wrist, legs. There were simply too many for him.

Behind Will, Horace was facing similar problems. He was better equipped and trained, and was fairing better in terms of injuries, but again, there were simply too many. He was comforted by the fact that he could feel Will pressed up against his back, still moving.

Until he felt the smaller figure fall.

Horace spun, swinging his sword. He already knew Will was down, so he didn't have to worry about beheading his friend.

Not checking what injury had caused his fall, Horace grabbed the Ranger by his arm, and dragged him up. Will still had energy in his body, and wasn't a dead-weight to Horace as the Knight began running, ignoring the bandits surrounding them, cutting through whoever stood in his way.

* * *

Keeping a grip on Will, who was continuously falling from an unknown injury, was one of the hardest things Horace had ever done. And with this problem, he refused to give up. The two of them stumbled through the woods, in what they hoped was the right direction. Well, what Horace hoped was the right direction. Will barely responded when he paused to catch a break, always bent over, usually leaning against a tree.

Horace still had no idea how his friend was injured, but he saw there was a lot of blood. Mainly pooling down his right leg, so Horace assumed that was where the wound was, and positioned himself accordingly.

Will stumbled again, as they were running. This time, he didn't try to pull himself up, and let himself fall to his knees. Well, knee. His right leg just collapsed underneath him.

"Will!" Horace hissed, skidding to a halt. Not seeing another option, Horace realized they would have to stop, with Will in the condition he was in. The Knight slipped back to where the Ranger was, and dragged him behind a tree. As he was doing so, he finally got a look at Will's wound.

Which was a large, obviously deep, cut. In the middle of his thigh, running along it.

"Oh, shit," Horace ran his hands through his hair, and glanced up at Will's face. He was pale, and his eyes weren't open.

Horace, who was tired, worried, and beaten up, didn't notice when one of the bandits walked behind him. He was tall, taller than Horace, but was no buffer than the Knight. Although he was of the same stature as Horace, he used a sword  _a lot_ larger than Horace's standard broadsword. The bandit raised it above his head, above the two unaware friends below.

* * *

Horace and Halt led their horses in through the gate, and Will rode. When they got to the stables, however, Will stiffly dismounted. He momentarily leaned heavily on Tug, before Horace slipped an arm under his shoulders. Halt led all three horses into separate stalls, and quickly rubbed them down as Horace brought Will over to a small bench where he could sit.

Will started to shake his head before he sat, however.

"No," Will murmured, and motioned towards the door. Horace looked between the door and Will for moment, a question in his eyes.

"Damnit, Horace," Will laughed tiredly, "I just want to see my family. Either bring me to them, or bring them to me."

* * *

_Halt released the arrow, aimed at the large bandit's throat. Of course, not having any interference, the arrow flew true, and slammed into it's target. The sword simply dropped from the man's hands, thumping to the ground, before the entire body came crashing down on top of it._

_Horace's eyes were wide as he slowly turned around, still holding onto Will, to view what the noise was._

_"That's one big-ass bandit," Will whispered._

_Snorting his laughter, Horace turned back to the Ranger on the ground. His eyes were barely open, but the way he was lying gave him the perfect view of everything behind Horace._

_Soon, both were laughing, oblivious to the fact of how close to death they'd come._

_Halt, however, was acutely aware of how close to death they'd come, and was currently standing a few feet in front of them, marveling at their laughter._


	21. What Happened

Horace pulled Will closer, gripped his shoulder harder. It was rather hard to do so, however, because the Ranger was bent over, his head practically between his knees, and his arms were wrapped around himself. Wretching sobs kept coming from his friend's hunched over body. There was nothing Horace wanted more than to comfort Will.

But what was he supposed to say, in the wake of his only child's death?

Looking away from Will, he tried to think of something to say. He couldn't say  _Everything's gonna be alright_ , because that was probably one of the worst things to say to someone who just lost their child. Because - well, because everything, eventually,  _would_ be alright. Will and Alyss would remember Danny, always as their first child, as their son, but as they grew older, more grievances would come around. Will would continue to go on missions, serving his kingdom, even if he hated himself for doing so and ignoring his son's departure. Alyss would probably be the same, remembering her son always, but staying focused on her work. It's just who they were.

"Will . . ." Horace hesitated, still not sure what to say. He hadn't actually been there when Danny died, he'd still been in Araluen. He rode in when he got the letter from Halt. Realizing that, Horace bent over, and gripped his shoulder. "Will, I want you to tell me what happened. Tell me what happened."

The Ranger was silent. No sobs, no sniffles.

"He wouldn't eat," Will coughed, and continued, "For some reason, he was refusing to eat anything."

* * *

_Unsure, Alyss tapped her husband's shoulder._

_Will looked up from the report, scratching his jaw. Upon seeing his wife, he smiled. But it quickly died at the look in her eyes._

_"What's wrong?"_

_The courier glanced down at the child in her arms, their one year-old kid Danny. She gently brushed the child's minimal brown hair to the side, staring warmly at him. There was sadness in that warmth, however._

_"Alyss?"_

_"It's Danny, Will. He's not eating anything I give him._

* * *

Will suddenly stopped talking, and let out a long, low moan. He still hadn't gotten up from his hunched over position, and he started to rock, holding his knees. Horace attempted to pull Will up, but his efforts met resistance.

"Will, he wouldn't eat. You couldn't  _force_ Danny to eat anything. That's not your or Alyss' fault."

His moan stopped, and he is again silent for a long time. To Horace, it almost looked as if Will had stopped breathing. He gently shook his friend.

"Will? Hey, tell me what happened. He didn't starve to death, so what happened?"

The Ranger started to take a deep breath, but the single breath was interrupted multiple times by small hiccups. "He-He got sick.  _Really_ sick, Hor-ace. The docs here had no clue what he had."

* * *

_Sitting on the bed, Danny in his arms, Will rocked back and forth. He could hear Alyss in the other room, speaking with the doctors. Even though they were speaking in hushed voices, he could tell what they were saying. They didn't know what Danny had. It was something completely new. Probably something since birth._

_Will pulled his child closer to his chest._

_He could go get Malcolm, Will thought, but how long would Danny survive? Would he survive that long? Would I need to bring him with me, so I wouldn't have to factor in our return time? But he might get even more sick, with winter coming, especially up north._

_So enveloped in his thoughts of fetching the old healer, Will didn't realize when Danny's short, shallow breaths stopped._

_When he did, however, all thoughts of_ any  _savior were whisked out of his mind. He stopped breathing, tightening his hold on his son._

_No matter how long he held his breath, though, his child would never breathe another again._

* * *

Will crumbles again, and started to sob. Horace, having not heard that Danny died in his father's arms, let the tears out. He'd been trying to stay strong for his friend, but there was always a limit.

Horace reached over again, but instead of trying to bring Will up to a sitting position, tried to bring him into a hug. All he wanted to do was hold his friend, to comfort him. He was never the best with words.

Struggling out of his grasp, Will stood up. Stumbling towards to doorway, Will kept his back to Horace.

He stopped before exiting, and continued to say something:

* * *

_Lying on the bed together, Will held Alyss to him, tightly, as if he was trying to prevent her from slipping away as well. They both had been silent, not saying a single word since burying Danny. Together, they had climbed the steps to their small apartment, not the cabin, and curled up together in bed._

_Neither said a word for hours, until:_

_"Will?" Alyss murmured, her voice muffled slightly from being buried in Will's chest._

_"Yes, darling?" He moved a hand to the back of her head, stroking her hair. She was shaking._

_"I'm pregnant."_

* * *

Will stood there, his back to Horace.

Horace was frozen. What the hell was he supposed to say to  _that?_

"You don't have to respond," Will whispered, still refusing to turn and face Horace.

"I-" Horace started, but stopped, as Will brusquely walked out of the room.

The slam that followed still caused him to flinch, even though he had been expecting it.


	22. What Was Never Meant to Be

With the sun warming his face, Will flicked his eyes open.

It was early morning, he could see, through the window at the far end of the small room. It seemed brighter than usual, until he realized that everything seemed a bit more . . .  _white . . ._ outside.  _It must have snowed last night,_  he thought lazily,  _not that I saw._  He grinned, and rolled over in the bed, rustling the sheets around him.

His torso ached, from where he'd cut it the day before during a mission. Well, actually, he didn't cut it himself. The highwayman had. And than Will had shoved his saxe into  _his_ torso. As far as he could tell, the cut wasn't too bad, wasn't even that deep. It just ached a lot.

Just seeing the fresh blanket of snow outside had made him shiver, and he pulled the covers back up to his chin. With his other hand, he reached over to the other side of the bed, where it should have been occupied with who he spent the night with. The bed was empty beside him, but slightly warm. Will scowled, because he'd been hoping for the warmth of their body pressed against his.

The blankets alone wouldn't keep him warm, not after envisioning the warmth of his partner's body. Will sat up, grimacing slightly as his injury ached, and scowling even deeper as the cool air touched his bare chest. As he sat still, he heard someone move around in the main room. The door to the bedroom wasn't completely closed either, and Will saw a shadow pass in front of it.

"Gil?" Will called, wondering what he was doing up so early. If the sun was just getting to the bedroom window, it couldn't be past five in the morning. The movement in the main room ceased for a moment, before the door creaked open partially, revealing the taller Ranger. He wasn't dressed completely, missing a shirt, but wearing his pants and riding boots. He looked to be getting ready to go out.

Seeing Will up, Gilan grinned, and opened the door wider to walk in. He was holding his shirt in his hand, but didn't bother to put it on before he walked into the room. He stood beside Will, looking down on him.

"Someone came by, knocking on the door. I didn't want to wake you, so I answered. A rural farmer requesting the help of a Ranger," Gilan pulled his shirt over his head, straightening it out and tucking it in while he spoke. "The guy was talking about his house being burned down by bandits."

Will moved to get out of bed, realizing that his job called. "Okay, I'll -" Gilan put a hand on Will's shoulder, stopping him.

He shook his head. "You got injured last night, you need rest," Gilan released Will's shoulder to bend down, and pluck his jerkin off the floor where it lay. He slipped it on and, without buttoning it, put a hand on each of Will's shoulders to push him back into the bed. "I'll deal with this one, don't worry."

Opening his mouth to protest as Gilan started to stand up straight, Gilan leaned forward once again, and put his lips to Will's before he could say anything. The kiss was brief, before the tall Ranger stood back up. "Rest. I'll be back by noon," he said, confidently.

* * *

_Even though Will had spent countless nights staring up at that very ceiling, he still did so now. Mainly because it annoyed Gilan that he wasn't looking at him when he was talking, but also because he hadn't stayed up late for a while, and had forgotten the pattern that was above his head. He could feel Gilan's eyes on him, but he still didn't move. His arms were folded on his stomach, his feet dangling off the end of the bed from when he'd fallen into it. Beside him, Gilan lay on his side, one hand underneath his head, the other near Will's side._

_Unexpectedly, beside him Gilan started to chuckle. Will turned to face him._

_"What?" Will asked, staring curiously into Gilan's eyes. Still, Gilan laughed, and didn't respond. Will turned onto his side, and moved a hand to jab Gilan in the stomach, which was unprotected. The tall Ranger moved his free hand to block Will, playfully bringing his feet up to push Will away._

_"No, no, wait," he gasped through his laughs. Will waited until the other man had caught his breath, both still holding their positions: Will's fingers ready to jab Gilan in the stomach, and Gilan still holding onto the hand trying to keep it from jabbing him. "J-just imagine this for me, okay?"_

_Will squinted at him, but didn't protest._

_Grinning, Gilan lowered his voice, and said, "Imagine Halt's face when he finds his two apprentices sleeping together."_

_Snorting, and rolling over to his other side to get out of the bed, Will said, "When?_ When _he finds out?"_

_Gilan reached out before Will could get out of bed, however, and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him back into the bed. Will burst out laughing as Gilan pulled him down, wrapping his other arm around his waist. Unfortunately for Will, Gilan was also tickling at the same time, and he laughed as Will struggled uselessly to get away._

* * *

"Will, wake up," Halt shook Will's shoulder gently, not needing to be told that his apprentice was injured. He could see the bandage around his torso, where the covers had slipped away when he moved. Will mumbled something in his sleep, and turned in bed away from Halt, brushing his hand off his shoulder at the same time. Halt moved around to the other side of the bed, and stood over Will, frowning down on him. Halt put his hand back on Will's shoulder, and shook him again, firmer this time. "Will, wake up," he repeated.

This time Will's eyes opened, and he blearily looked up at his mentor. "Halt?"

Halt now moved back around the bed, and paused near the end of the bed before answering Will. Were those Gilan's gloves? What were they doing in Will's room? He had known Gilan was here, he'd helped out Will in a joint case. A pair of highwaymen, robbing through multiple fiefs. Halt assumed that's how Will got injured, but it didn't explain why articles of Gilan's clothing, as he spotted a soiled pair of pants and Gilan's satchel lying on the floor, were in Will's room. "What're you doing sleeping past noon, Will? Everything go okay yesterday?" He asked casually, dragging his eyes away from the bag on the floor.

Will rolled over in the bed, facing Halt again. "Not the best," he mumbled.

The older Ranger nodded, glancing down at the bandage that had once again revealed itself when Will had moved. "Where's Gilan?"

Yawning, Will rolled onto his back, and stretched his arms out. Halt didn't miss the brief flash of pain on Will's face. "He went out to deal with some trouble. A farmer came round and asked for a Ranger's help. He told me to rest, and left," he shrugged, and propped himself up on an elbow, rubbing his eyes.

He didn't notice Halt's alarm. "What was the problem?"

Will shrugged again, "Someone burned down the guy's house."

Halt hesitated, but then pulled a letter out of his pocket. Will looked at him curiously, now that he was starting to wake up.

"Will, I got this letter from Crowley today," Halt hesitated. "It says that there's a small group of killers going around and knocking at Ranger's doors. They fake asking for help, and bring the Ranger out to the middle of nowhere. A few caught it in time, and got away, but not all. Some were found gutted," There was no response, but Halt felt Will's eyes on him. "From the direction they've been going the entire time, Crowley thought they were coming here next."

Without warning, Will swung his legs around, and stood up in front of Halt. He was only wearing pajama pants, and no shirt, save the bandage. Will moved around Halt, grabbing clothes from the cubby closet behind the older Ranger.

"Will, Gilan's right, you need to rest. I can find him -"

Shaking his head, Halt's former apprentice pulled a shirt over his head. The cloth was covering his face, but Halt was sure there had been a grimace of pain. In a few minutes, he was fully dressed, and walking out his bedroom door. Halt followed, still wishing that Will had stayed in bed.

* * *

Glancing up to the sky, Gilan realized that he'd been gone longer than he'd expected. He'd told Will that he'd be back by noon, but they were just getting to their destination, and the sun was at it's peak. Sighing, he realized he wouldn't just be able to go back and fall back into bed with Will. He'd want to know what had taken him so long.

Beside him, the farmer on the donkey stopped. "There, Ranger. Tha's my house," he pointed ahead, where the ruins could just be seen. They were in a thick forest, kilometers from any town or village, and just that fact made him hesitant. Gilan dismounted Blaze, patting her neck. The slush beneath his feet had once been a beautiful blanket of white snow, but it melted as it felt the full face of the sun. The farmer also dismounted, and motioned for him to follow.

Indeed, some  _had_ burned the house, he saw, as he walked among the ruins. The entire roof was gone, and more than half the walls. The base was still there, but the only thing that really still stood was the bricked chimney and fireplace. The only thing that bothered Gilan . . . The man said that it had been burned last night. Why wasn't it still smoldering? No smoke? He placed a hand on one of the blackened beams. It wasn't even warm. Cold. Gilan shook his head, and turned to face the man behind him.

The farmer, a nervous man with dirty blond hair and deep brown eyes, stood wringing his hands.

"Sir, you said this place was burned last night," Gilan said, and the man nodded in confirmation. Gilan nodded, and continued, "But if it was, it should still be warm. Even in this weather, a fire that burned as well as it did to take down the entire roof of the house would still be warm. Smoldering. Smoking even. I'd say this place burned a while ago."

Without even waiting to hear what Gilan had to say next, the man turned and bolted. He leaped down the steps, and quickly mounted the donkey. Hitting the poor animal's rump, and farmer glanced fearfully back at Gilan, who was still standing in the ruins, confused.  _Why the hell is he running? Oh. Right. He lied. I should probably go after him._  Gilan moved towards the steps.

He trotted down the steps, intent on going after the guy, but not overall worried. He didn't look down and see the ice that coated the step in time, and his foot slipped out from underneath him. Losing his balance, he fell. His back hit one of the stairs, painfully, but thankfully he missed hitting his head on the other.

"Oh, come on," he groaned, not seeing the shadow fall over him from the top of the steps.

* * *

Will stopped as Blaze came into sight. She was exactly where Gilan had left her, although Will didn't know that. Dismounting Tug, a hand around his stomach, the younger Ranger moved towards the other horse, concerned with what he'd find. He didn't notice Halt dismount behind him, and walk towards the ruins of a burned down cabin.

"Hey, girl," Will whispered, placing a hand on Blaze's nose. The horse shook her head, and seemed to look at something behind him. Will turned, to see Halt standing at the top of the front steps of a burned house. He was looking down on something just within the walls, where Will couldn't see. He was too far away for Will to be able to guess his reaction, but he could tell it wasn't good. Letting his hand slip from Blaze, Will turned, and started towards Halt.

"Halt?" Will slipped into the doorway beside Halt, and looked down on what was there. He stopped, frozen, not able to tear his eyes away from the floor. He felt Halt's arm on his shoulder, but he didn't pay any attention to it. "No, no no, Gil," Will murmured, and started to kneel down beside the body, heedless of the blood, "No, please no," his voice cracked. "Gilan?"

* * *

When Ranger Gilan finally opened his eyes, he wasn't expecting to see the ironstone of Redmont above his head. Nor was he expecting to open his eyes at all.  _Didn't I die?_ Looking around, he noticed he was in the infirmary, with an empty bed to his right, and . . . Halt sitting on his left?

The grizzled Ranger looked worn. His head was drooping from where he'd propped it up with a hand, and his other hand seemed to be holding something else. Gilan noticed something else about him, but it just didn't make sense. Had Halt been crying?  _Well, I nearly died apparently,_  he thought,  _that's probably it._

"Halt?" Gilan shifted in bed, hoping to be able to sit up. Halt's head jerked up, as if Gilan's voice had woken him from a dream. His eyes were cloudy, though, and not at all what they should be. "Halt, what's wrong?"

Silence stretched between them, and then Gilan noticed him wringing whatever was in his hand. It was small enough where Gilan couldn't see it. Halt opened his mouth, but hesitated. "When we found you," he started quietly, "we patched you up as best we could, than hurried you here. You were in pretty bad condition, so we came as fast as possible." He stopped again, staring down at his hands, "I didn't know the two of you were in a relationship."

He said it so factually, so normally, that Gilan hadn't realized what he said for a good minute. Then the revelation sunk in, and the Ranger slowly looked away, his cheeks burning.  _Where's Will? He should be here suffering Halt's disapproval with me._

Halt held his hand out, causing Gilan to look back. In his hand was a silver oak leaf.

"When we got here, Will collapsed. They carried him up here with you, and found poison in the wound on his torso. They were too late to save him."


	23. The Jeweler's Apprentice

The small silver band turned in his fingers, reflecting the light and showing the small details he wouldn't have noticed otherwise. It was simple - he couldn't afford much more, and especially not what he thought she deserved - but beautiful and elegant just like her. It consisted of three strings of silver braided around each other, with the small inscription  _"Mainwaring-Treaty"_ on the inside of one of the single strands. He'd thought about putting something like  _"I love you"_ or  _"Together Forever"_ or something similar, but she already knew that, so he thought maybe the simple reminder that they were together would be to her liking. That had been what he paid for. Everything else Ambrose, the jeweler, added himself. It wasn't much that he added, but it must have taken hours for him to do. The small braid was briefly interrupted, twisting into a more elaborate design, which surrounded a tiny diamond. It wasn't much bigger than a pebble, but it definitely finished off the piece perfectly.

"Ambrose . . ." Will didn't know what to say. The two of them weren't exactly close, but every time something had happened in the old jeweler's shop, which was sadly more often than it should, Will had always been there to help, and always came up with the stolen pieces eventually. Lately, because of his vigilance, less people have tried.

Before he could say more, Ambrose was shaking his head, smiling. "Think of it as . . . compensation. And a wedding gift, of course," he said. They shook hands above the table, standing as they reached out. Will took one last look at his fiancée's wedding band, before handing it over to the jeweler. Ambrose took it, and opened a small box that sat on the table between them. Will had seen the man take the ring out of the box, but now that he was standing, he could see what was in there. Multiple other pieces were inside the box, half of which was taken up by small rolls of cloth that held rings between them. Ambrose set Alyss' ring inbetween two extremely extravagant rings, with diamonds studded into them that were more than triple the size of the one in her's. Every piece in that box held large gems, and were so ostentatious it was nearly laughable.

Will raised an eyebrow in question, his grin broadening. Ambrose snapped the case shut, smiling as well. "Believe me, I wonder what they're thinking with these designs as well. Why -" behind them, someone slammed the door open, startling both of them. Instinctually, Will's hand went to his knives at his side. He hesitated, however, drawing one, upon seeing who was at the door.

It was a stranger, that was for sure. But the man wasn't wearing any weapon openly, and his face was young enough to have that youthful innocence. Not that his looks relaxed Will's alarm, as Will himself was one example of how looks could be deceiving. He had dirty blond hair, cut messily at a sharp chin. High cheekbones and clear, sky-blue eyes gave him a friendly look. At the same time, though, Will sensed something restrained behind those eyes. Possibly a mixture of panic and fear, but there also might be anger there. Will glanced over to Ambrose, wondering if his presence for a private matter somehow had protected the old man from another robbery.

"Oh," the man said, "sorry. Am I interrupting?" His voice revealed his age, probably not much older than twenty. He was still young, more likely to make rash decisions.

Ambrose hesitated, but Will tilted his head signaling him to respond. "Ah, is it urgent? I have a few errands to run, so if it could wait until tomorrow . . ." The jeweler trailed off, looking expectantly at the client.

"Actually, sir, I just wanted to ask for some advice . . ." He pulled out a small case, and snapped it open. Inside were a pair of simple earrings, Will saw, as he held them out for Ambrose to see. "One of the settings got snapped off and I was just wondering if I'd be able to fix it myself? I don't have money to pay you to fix it, but if I can't fix it personally, I could work free to pay it off?"

Realizing that the kid probably wanted privacy, Will stepped around his chair. He took his cloak in his hand, which he had earlier thrown over the arm of the chair. Swinging his cloak around his shoulders, Will moved towards the door. Turning back to Ambrose, Will smiled. "Thanks again, Ambrose. I owe you for this one." And with that, Will slipped by the man in the doorway, taking care to minimally brush the other's side. He hesitated behind the young man though, and turned back. "Ambrose, do you want me to wait for you outside? You'll be having to go to Redmont, right?" Right away, he noticed that there were no weapons hidden behind the young man's back. As far as Will could tell, he was telling the truth.

Right away after he said that, Ambrose shook his head. "Oh, no thank you, Will. But I appreciate the offer. Now, I'll be keeping your's until the day before, correct?"

Will nodded, smiling. "Yeah. Thanks again, Ambrose. You know where to find me." Will nodded to the young man, who know stood to the side of the door, inside Ambrose's room. Turning on his heels, Will headed for the front door, realizing that his lateness would make his fiancée suspicious, and that would ruin the surprise.

* * *

"Malcolm is here?" Will grinned, and leaned against the front door, crossing his arms against his chest. Alyss and Horace sat at the small table in front of him, sitting face to face, sipping coffee. Something was bothering him, something he missed, and he was pacing around the room restlessly. He sometimes saw Alyss' worried look, or Horace's curious stare, but they knew him well enough to realize that he would realize it eventually, and badgering him wouldn't help it out faster.

"I saw him yesterday," Horace leaned forward, taking the cup of coffee in his hands. For once, Will wasn't drinking coffee.  _What did I forget? Did I see something? Was something said?_

Alyss opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't get a word out before there was a frantic knock at the door. Will pushed himself off the wall, somewhat surprised that he hadn't heard the approach. Tug obviously had signaled, Will had just been too preoccupied to hear it. He peeked through the peep-hole, not knowing if it was a friend or enemy. Who he saw caused him to fling the door opened, suddenly realizing what he'd forgotten.

A disheveled Ambrose stood in front of a castle guard, who had a hand on his shoulder, apparently steadying the old man. He had a bandage wrapped around his head, and he was clutching a ripped bag to his chest. Dread rose in Will's throat. Behind him, he heard Alyss and Horace rise. With the guidance of the castle guard, who Will recognized, they helped the jeweler inside, and to the bench.

"Please tell me it wasn't that kid I left you with," Will groaned, running a hand through his hair. Ambrose leaned over the table briefly, catching his breath. Horace moved around the table to the kitchen, and pouring out another cup of coffee.

Ambrose nodded his thanks as the Knight set it down in front of him. "Ah, well, Will, it was." Just as he said that, he seemed to realize his mistake, just as he saw the anger in Will's eyes. The old jeweler knew it wasn't directed at him, but moreover directed at the Ranger. He was angry with himself for not protecting his charge. He quickly added, "But it wasn't right after you left. When I was going to Redmont."

Will frowned, still angry with himself. Before he could say anything, he felt Alyss' arm go around his waist, and her voice began. "How about you start from the beginning. That way we won't get facts confused." He felt her hand tighten, and he took a glance up to her face. There was a question in her eyes, but Ambrose started, after having caught his breath, before either could say anything to the other.

"The young man, who said his name was Adrian, wanted me to look at the earrings he showed. You saw them. Nothing expensive, family heirlooms I learned later, that currently belonged to his mother, but would be given to his sister when she came of age," he paused, taking a deep breath. "The back was just plainly snapped off. I told him simply that if he just heated up the metal enough, he could solder it back on, but that would definitely make it more difficult to put back in the ear. I offered to make a new base, and reset the entire earring, because you couldn't just repair the break without getting the small bump from the solder," again, Ambrose paused for a breath. Will vaguely recalled that Ambrose was heading to Redmont with the case he had with him earlier, and suddenly he knew where this was going. "Adrian, the young man, refused, and thanked me for my time and left. Very polite the entire time, and by the end of our talk, I actually enjoyed his company."

Horace, who stood near Will and Alyss, frowned and stepped forward. "But this is the man who did this to you? Did he come back afterwards?"

Ambrose glanced at who spoke, and looked away, but then glanced back towards Horace with a frown. "Sir Horace? Why are you here?"

The Knight smiled, "I thought you of all people would have known."

"Oh," the jeweler smiled, "right. Best man, of course."

"What happened?" Will's voice sounded strained, even to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alyss glance at him once more. He knew what he'd forgotten, but didn't want to face it. He'd spoken of where Ambrose was going, dismissing the kid. The kid had known where the jeweler was going.

The older man started, and looked back to Will. "Oh, yes. Well, Will, you know that I was headed up to Redmont. I had a few things to do there, so I also supposed I could drop off a few pieces that were ordered. I was headed across the Tarbus Bridge when . . ." He paused, and glanced towards the guard who was standing to the other side of the door. The guard picked up where Ambrose left off.

"We assume that the man hit Ambrose in the head with a rock, or something similar. He doesn't remember what happened, and his case with the jewelry is gone."

"How do you know it was this man, then?" Alyss asked.

Again, the guard answered instead of Ambrose. "Someone saw it happen. Just as a few guards and myself ran to him - we were too far away to see anything - a few citizens came running over as well. They said they saw a man with dirty blond hair run away, and that he was wearing a dark colored jacket and worn pants. They say he was definitely a stranger, not someone from Wensley. He had Ambrose's box with him. Does that fit our man's description?"

Will thought back an hour before, what the kid named Adrian looked like. He did have dirty blond hair, and had been wearing darkly colored clothes. But it was nothing definite. He shrugged, "To say for sure, we'd have to have a better description than that. But I did get a good look at his face, so I'll be able to identify him." Will slipped out of Alyss' arm, and went over to where the guard stood. Grabbing his cloak off the peg, Will threw it over his shoulders. "Did they see which way they went?"

"West."

The Ranger took his bow in hand, and nodded. "I'll start on it. Go get some rest, Ambrose, I'll find your case."

* * *

Thinking back, Will reasoned that there was no way he could have prevented the situation he was currently in.

Horace had decided to go with the guard and Ambrose, and before they left, the jeweler had caught Will's sleeve. "Your present was still in the box, Will. I apologize, truly. I -"

"Ambrose, you don't have to apologize. It's not your fault, either way," he had replied.

After they had left, Will stepped out onto the porch, and Alyss had followed. With her saber. Remembering her when she was sparing with Evanlyn while on their way to Nihon-Ja was the only reason why he didn't stop her from coming. She knew how to handle herself, he knew, and he'd be there as well. Plus, hopefully, Adrian didn't seem to be much of a fighter. Will kept his bow in front of him either way.

Currently, Will and Alyss rode side-by-side, in silence. There was really nothing to say, and it was probably best that Will was left to follow the tracks in front of him. They were deep, easily seen from up on Tug. He'd obviously been running, probably afraid of pursuit. Having just rained that morning, the mud was still wet, and his footprints sank in, making his trail clear.

"How far ahead do you think he is?" Alyss murmured, looking forward.

Will shrugged. "Ambrose was attacked not too long before they came to us. I'd say no more than twenty minutes. Plus, he's on foot, running, and he'll eventually get tired, while we're riding after him." They weren't going faster than a good trot, as Will could see the tracks easily.

Silence stretched between the pair of them, but it wasn't awkward silence. They were comfortable enough with each other that they didn't have to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter, which  _would_ make the ride uncomfortable.

"When we find him, what will you do if he runs?" She suddenly asked.

Will looked over to the Courier, confused. "What?"

"If he runs, what will you do? Shoot him?" She continued to look forward, not taking a single glance at Will, who was staring incredulously at her.

"Uh, well," the Ranger hesitated, but continued, "probably? Not much else I can do. Throw a rock?" he added sarcastically.

"Don't you have your strikers with you? We don't know why he stole Ambrose's jewelry, maybe he needs money. Instead of punishing or hurting people for their bad choices, maybe we should try to help them out."

"So you want him to keep it?"  _And your ring?_  Will looked away, leaning forward to check that the tracks were still there. Adrian hadn't tried to cover his tracks, and remained on the same westerly course.

"No! But maybe we could help him. Figure out why he needed the jewelry, and help him find a more conventional way of fixing his problem. And shooting him wouldn't help. Either way, wouldn't what happens to him be Ambrose's choice? What if Ambrose forgives him? Kind of hard to accept forgiveness with an arrow in your leg."

Sighing, Will turned in his saddle, and opened one of the bags. His strikers had slid to the bottom of the bag, and he had to dig for a while before he was able to come up with them. When he found them, however, he screwed the two ends together, so he could throw it if necessary. Next to him, he noticed Alyss smile and nod, and face forward once more.

Just as he finished screwing them together, he looked up, and saw  _him_. Checking Tug, Will held out a hand, grabbing Alyss' elbow. She turned to him, a question in her eyes as she pulled her own horse to a stop. He held a finger to his lips, and pointed ahead of them. Her eyes followed his, and widened.

Ten meters ahead of them, sitting on a fallen log, was Adrian. He sat hunched over, breathing deeply as if he was catching his breath. Clutched to his chest was Ambrose's box, unmistakable from the initials etched and painted on the side of the box.

The engaged couple glanced at each other, wondering if he'd noticed them. Before he could stop her, Alyss shrugged, and dismounted from her horse.

"Adrian?" She called, making her voice gentle and unthreatening. She put her hands behind her back, and smiled, and Will lowered his hand so the young man couldn't see what he held.

Will hadn't needed to do that, however, because the moment his name left her mouth, he was on his feet, sprinting away from them with the box still clutched to his chest. Sighing loudly, Will brought his arm up, and flung the strikers after the figure. Just as before, Adrian hadn't bothered in moving off his path, and the Ranger had had a clear shot. The metal spheres slammed into the back of his head, and he stumbled forward, falling on top of the box as the strikers went flying to the side.

* * *

Just as Alyss had guessed, Adrian had needed money. His family didn't have that much, and their father had just lost his job. He had went to Ambrose because he'd been hoping to have his mother's earrings fixed as a surprise, in hopes of helping her feel better. He hadn't come to jeweler's shop in hopes of stealing something, but he'd realized what the gems might cost, and figured he could try.

Alyss sat listening to him, as Will searched the ground looking for his strikers. He hadn't thrown them that far, but he for some reason had the knack of constantly losing them. This were his fifth pair since graduation, counting his first pair, and the pair he'd lost up north, when catching the Genovesan. Pursing his lips, Will finally knew the answer to the question of what he would hope for as a wedding gift from his commandant. Crowley wouldn't be too happy, but Crowley being mad was just as rare as seeing Halt smile.

Will glanced over to Alyss, and then back to the box in his hand. Making a decision, Will cracked the box open, peeking inside. Everything was as it was when he last saw it, so Adrian hadn't taken any out. Every extravagant piece, each begging for his attention, even though his eyes stayed with the simplest of the lot.

Her ring still shone, even though there was barely any light getting into the box.

"Will? We should get going."

He snapped the case shut, and curled his hand into a fist, hiding what he'd taken out. He made a show of glancing around on the ground for his strikers, but walked over to them without really looking any more.

"Adrian, go ahead a bit, will you? We'll be there in a minute." A surprised look flashed across his face, and Alyss looked at him curiously. Without saying anything, the young man nodded, and turned towards town. Will and Alyss stood there for a few moments, facing each other. He was looking down at the ground, his hand still curled into a fist, and the case in the other hand.

"Will?" She said softly. "Is something wrong?"

He bit his lip, still looking away. He set the box on top of Tug's saddle, freeing his hand to take hers.

"Will?"

 _What is it that Horace says? Just_ say  _it, don't waste your time._

He got down on a knee, looking up to his fiancée. "You deserve a lot more than my clumsy proposal in Nihon-Ja, Alyss, so . . ." He hesitated again, but then decided that his brother was right.  _Just say it._

"I love you, Alyss. Will you make my life complete by spending the rest of it together with me?"

Will brought his other hand between them, above their clasped hands. Uncurling his hand revealed the ring he and Ambrose designed together, shining in the dying light.

* * *

Will walked into Ambrose's shop a few days after their wedding. He just wanted to check how the older man was doing, but he'd also gotten a letter saying that Ambrose had accepted a new apprentice, and wanted Will to meet him.

He stopped in the doorway of the workroom, however, a smile stuck to his face.

Bending over a table with Ambrose, the two of them studying something small there, stood Adrian. His hair was held back with a band, and his jacket was thrown over a chair. They were conversing quietly, Ambrose pointed out something with a pair of tweezers, murmuring something.

Will had known that Ambrose had forgiven him when they'd gotten back, and chose not to press charges after hearing the full story, but what Will hadn't known was that  _this_ was how the kid was being punished for his actions.


	24. The Lady I Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of this is mine, the idea came from a friend of mine.

Will tipped back the coffee mug, draining the last. Setting it back to the table's surface, he turned his head to where the coffee pot sat, still with enough for one more cup, and debated getting up to get another. They  _had_ made a two day trip in one day, and although that wasn't the most rigorous schedule they've ever been on, it had tired Will out. He hesitated, however, when he felt a burning sensation on the back of his neck. Instead of turning to see his wife glaring daggers at him, he turned his eyes to Horace, who sat across the table, finishing off his own cup of coffee. Will's eyes flicked back down to the mug. He  _was_ tired, and it was still a long day ahead of them. His eyes flicked over to the pot.

"Ehem."

Will sat back in his seat, and took his hand off the mug. He found he really didn't need another cup, apparently. And he didn't need to turn to see the smug smile on his wife's face, either. The three of them sat together at a table in Horace and Cassandra's apartment, the Ranger and courier on one side, and the knight on the other. They sat in silence, nursing mugs of coffee. Technically, Will was already on his second, and that was why Alyss had stopped him from getting a third.

Behind him, bare feet smacked on the stone floor, where there was no rug to cover the cold stone. Considering the only other person in the room was Horace and Cassandra's son, Damon, it was easy to conclude that the kid was coming to where the adults sat.

Now, when Will moved his eyes to his side, he didn't look to the coffee pot, but to the kid who scarily resembled his mother, just with his father's hair. Damon was three, and was getting to the inquisitive age, where he was asking question upon question upon question. That's why the Ranger was surprised, and kind of shocked, to see the kid reach down, and pull up his shirt, instead of asking a question, like 'What is coffee made of?'

Damon pulled up his shirt, showing off his stomach and chest, with his small belly poking out, like he was almost shoving it out to make it bigger. His arms were up above his head, so the cloth of his shirt covered his face. Will glanced over to the kid's father. Horace's mouth had dropped open, and there was also a shocked, confused expression on his face. He knew about as much as Will did about his child's antics.

"What's . . . this?" Will crossed his arms to his chest, smiling down at the kid. He loved his nephew, he did. But, damn. Kids could be confusing at times.

The young Prince dropped his arms, but left his shirt rolled up, so his bare chest was still on display. "It's my muscles," he giggled, smiling up at Will. Will nodded knowingly, deciding to go along with Damon's game. Beside him, he heard Horace drop his head to the table, rattling the mugs. Before he could say anything, Damon continued, "But you can't touch them. Uncle Will. Only the lady I love can touch them."

Will's smile faltered, as he coughed and laughed at the same time, causing him to choke on nothing, and making the cough worse. Reaching out, he put a hand on Damon's shoulder. "And," he hesitated, but couldn't think of where else to go, "and where did you learn that?"

Now the kid reached up to pull down his shirt, the grin spreading across his face. He seemed proud, and his eyes went over to his father, seemingly looking for praise as he said, "Mommy does it all the time to Daddy!" Out of the corner of Will's eye, Horace suddenly whipped his head off the table top, his back straight and his eyes on his son. Again, before either of them could speak, Damon continued, "Can I see you're muscles, Uncle Will?"

With his smile now frozen to his face, Will turned to face his friend. Horace's face was beet red, his jaw tight, and eyes closed. How would he get out of this one? Will turned back to the prince, finally defrosting his smile enough to say, "I'd rather not, Damon. I can only show them to the lady I love." Will moved his body partially, which revealed Alyss sitting beside him to the kid. The Ranger and courier took each other's hands, and held them underneath the table.

Damon's mouth widened in amazement, making a small ' _oh'_  on the child's face. Quickly, however, he leaned forward, looking past Will, to Alyss. "Do you touch Uncle Will's muscles sometimes, Auntie Alyss?"

 _Okay, that was_ not  _what I planned._ Will put a hand over his mouth, hiding his smile. This was her problem, now.

Or Horace's. "Damon, stop it." The knight reached down, and grabbed his kid's shoulder, gently tugging him away, and towards his own side of the table. "That's not polite, now apologize."

Will opened his mouth to tell Horace that it was fine, and Damon didn't need to apologize. Alyss beat him to it. Except . . .

"Yes actually I do," she began, matter-of-a-factly, "everyday, before getting out of bed, I lift one finger, and give his muscles a tiny poke, and then run out of the room."

It was Will's turn to feel the blood rush to his face, and his face became an interesting shade of red, while Damon's smile widened, and Horace let go of his child's arm so he could wipe his eyes of tears from his laughter.

Will stood for the third cup of coffee, not caring if it was cold or not.


	25. A Gift

Winter that year had blown further south than usual, and as the Ranger trudged through the snow, a tight grip on the bag hanging at his side, he silently cursed Mother Nature. Sure, he'd been up north in Norgate at the time of winter a few years ago, but this was worse than even that. He didn't even want to know how cold it'd be up there, considering how cold he was at the moment. He paused his walk, and turned in a circle, the wind whipping his cloak out. The snap it made nearly sounded like an actual whip, and he spun around, startled.

And came face-to-face with the woman he was supposed to meet.

Years ago, when Will was still a Ward, they had a few tutors and caretakers, most taking on both roles. As the children were orphans, some took on motherly approach for the younger children, and over the years, a few children and tutors would get attached to each other. Just as Will had with Halt. Unfortunately, Will never had that experience. He'd been too independent, running up trees instead of socializing.

To this day, he only knew of one tutor that had remained working in the Ward after he'd left. Her name was Miriam, and she stood in front of him now, bundled up against the weather, a smile on her rosy face. She was probably around Halt's age, and stood around Will's height. Plump, but not heavy.

"Will, dear, how have you been?" She stepped forward, reaching out to hug him.  
He smiled. Not to many people these days were willing to step forward and ask for a hug from a Ranger. Even him. Will spread one arm, keeping a grip on his satchel, and embraced his former tutor. "Busy. Very busy."

"Well, than what are you doing here, hun? If you've been so busy?" She widened her smile as she stepped back, and seemed to appraise him. That's when he realized he hadn't had much contact with the Ward since he left. This was the first he'd seen Miriam up close since he left.

"Actually," now he moved the strap off his shoulder, and brought about the satchel from underneath his cloak. He held it out to her. "it's because I'm so busy that I'm here." He stayed silent, but there was a question in her eyes as she reached out to take it. "I wanted to stop by the Ward before I left for a trip around the fief, but I've just been called on a mission, and I'm leaving short notice for a while. Probably a long while, in fact. Figured I should give that over before I left." He took the sides of his cloak, and wrapped himself. The cold was getting to him. And to think, in the morning he'd be leaving and sleeping in this the next night.

"But what is it? Is there something in this?" Miriam now studied the bag in her ands, glancing up curiously at Will. The wind picked up, blowing his hood back, and snapping the cloak out of his hands. The older woman was bundled up carefully, and winced as Will reached back for his hood, while grabbing one side of his cloak in his other hand.

"It's . . ." Will pulled his hood back up with some difficulty, but didn't try to bring his cloak around him again. He kept one hand holding the hood on his head, and the other held the side. "It's just knick knacks, things I"ve been finding around my cabin. Things that reminded me of when I was at the Ward." He paused again, glancing around. "Things that helped me through it, I guess. You probably remember that I didn't have the best time at the Ward." Miriam nodded, her gaze now softening. She now looked at the satchel with care. "I guess, just . . ." He hesitated.

Miriam prompted gently, "You guess?"

Will smiled. "Just give it to the one you think who needs it. Whoever needs something like that. What's in that satchel helped me through, so maybe it'd help another kid."

His former tutor smiled wide, and clutched the satchel to her chest. Reaching out, she put her free hand on Will's cheek. "You're a good man, Will. I'm proud." He put his hand over her's. They stood silent for a moment, before the older woman pulled away, nodding goodbye. Will watched her back as she disappeared into the shadows, wondering who she'd give the bag too, and if they needed it as much as he had.


	26. As the Song Ended

After eight years, you'd think someone would change drastically. But no.

There he sat, eight years later. His hair was dyed a ridiculous shade of blaze orange, and you could even see his roots growing at the top. Over the years, he'd tanned in the sun, which had also seemingly darkened his eyes partially. Evidently, he'd been eating less as well, as he seemed more slender, his cheeks thinner. There was a tired look in his eyes, which, paired with his lazy smile, gave him a laid back appearance.

So over the years, he _had_ changed. Dramatically, in fact.

And yet he hadn't.

They were the same eyes. Darker, but the same.

The same smile. Wider, less toothy, but the same.

Gilan paused within the doorway, unsure if he should continue. Considering the weather, no one noticed. The air was dry, the night clear. The tall Ranger wasn't wearing his standard Ranger uniform, and wasn't even wearing a cloak. He wouldn't be noticed unless they saw each other straight on.

He frowned. Considering how he was when he left, Gilan assumed that the red-head in front of him was not eager to see anyone from Araluen that he knew.

* * *

 _"NO! I need a break, damn it! All I've been doing is one thing after another, after another, and I'm_ tired. _I realize that there's shit to be done, and shit to be started, but I_ can't. _I just can't, okay?"_

_"That doesn't mean you have to leave, Will-"_

_"So, what? I'm not allowed to go where I want, now? What if I said I was going to visit Selethen? Erak? Would you stop me then? Or no? I just want to be alone, and even if I stay here, you know I'll be dragged into some shit and-"_

_"Why can't you tell us where you're going? So-"_

_"I already said_ why! _I need to be alone. I need a break. And if you knew where I was, that's kind of defeating the fucking purpose."_

_"How-"_

_"Long? How would I know? I don't know?! I'm at my wit's end, I just need to_ leave _. So let me leave. Let me recharge. Let me be at peace for as long as I need. I'll find you when I'm ready."_

* * *

Someone squeezed beside Gilan to get inside, and the Ranger quickly slipped to the side of the door to get out of the way of any others trying to get in.

Will's hair was longer, and he had it messily pulled back, a few strands falling across his forehead. He was distracted, still strumming away on his mandola. A young girl, probably around the age of ten, sat beside him, swinging her legs in time. A taller man stood with a hand on the girls shoulder, a gentle smile on his face. Gilan could make out the words, but it seemed that Will was singing a birthday song for the young girl.

As the song ended, Gilan still stood near the doorway, studying his missing friend.

As the song ended, Will's eyes went up, looking at the crowd of politely clapping guests, and bawdy drunks pounding on tables.

As the song ended, the singer's eyes found the one person who _wasn't_ clapping.

For a few seconds, there was panic in Will's eyes. He wasn't ready. He needed more time. He was tired, trying to relax, and was just starting to loosen up. He needed more time.

And so, as the song ended, and panic filled the singer's eyes, Gilan smiled reassuredly, and raised his hand in a greeting. He made sure to keep it low and out of sight. He held it there for a few seconds, before he turned back around, and walked out into the night. As he turned, he gave a small nod. Will responded likewise, a small smile on his face. The message had been sent. Gilan wouldn't tell anyone where he was at, and Will wouldn't have to worry about it. The night was still warm as Gilan stepped out.

The next town over wasn't too far away, he could find a room for the night there.


	27. Regret

The last they'd seen of each other, Will knew, was when he'd denied Duncan's offer to join the Royal Scouts as a lieutenant. After he spoke his response, Cassandra had gone from the room, and Will didn't see her before he left. They didn't say goodbye, they didn't even exchange words. 

Now, two years later, she walked down the hall towards him, seemingly oblivious to his presence, even though he wasn't trying to hide himself. She looked nearly the exact same as he last saw her, but he noticed she was growing her hair out. At the moment, it was just reaching her shoulders, a slight curl framing her face. She wasn't wearing any fancy princess dress, but a knee length tunic and leggings. There was a simple necklace of dark grey shiny stones around her neck, and the belt around her waist held a familiar pattern. 

They were alone in the hall, it being in a non-public area of the castle.  

Will slowed, considering if he should catch her attention. They hadn't exactly parted on the best terms . . . _What the hell?_ Will thought. _I don't live here, I won't have to see her everyday._ _But I should at least try to mend this friendship._  

"Princess?" Will held out a hand, intending to tap her on her shoulder. She'd been so engrossed in whatever papers she was holding that she hadn't heard his approach -- he didn't consider that that might've been from his Ranger training. She veered to the side, out of his reach, the moment he voiced his presence. She didn't drop her papers, but a dagger was pulled from her belt. The princess held it up in a defensive position. 

Recognition flashed in her eyes for a second, and then . . . was that anger? Annoyance?  

Cassandra dropped her arm, and stood up straight. She had a confident stance about her, and she had actually grown a few inches as well. There was hostility in her voice when she said: "Will. What do you want?" 

Suddenly unsure, Will dropped his hand. He studied the heir of his country for a moment, "I just wanted to speak with you," he started.  

She spun on her heels, sheathed her dagger, and looked back down to the sheaf of paper in the crook of her arm. "Sorry, I don't have time for you." 

Will flinched at the harshness in her voice. _Was this because of his denial before?_ The Ranger's apprentice watched as his former friend began to walk down the hall, once again ignoring him. "E-Evanlyn? Wai--" 

"My name is not _Evanlyn_!" She snapped. Both of them stood at either ends of the short hall, the Princess with her back to the Ranger. Her face was turned partially, but other than that, Will could only see her body shaking. With rage or what, he did not know. 

He had been hoping that at least this time around the two of them would be able to part with a goodbye. They didn't. Will turned, silently, and walked away. Halt was expecting him soon. He was unable to speak, surprised from her anger, and so didn't try to say anything else. He pulled the cloak tight around him, and didn't turn back. 

Cassandra remained there in the hall, expecting an answer, and receiving none. And when she turned, and saw the hall empty behind her, there was no one to see the regret in her eyes. 

 


	28. Cold Coffee

He felt his gut twist, the panic rise in his throat. Bile rose along with it. He didn't want to know what he was looking at. But at the same time . . . he already knew what it was.

* * *

_"Will," Halt snapped, throwing his cloak over his shoulders, "you know why you can't come with. First off, you're injured." The grizzled Ranger turned his back on his former apprentice, and mounted Abelard. Gilan stood a few feet to their side, standing awkwardly beside Blaze. So far, he hadn't voiced an opinion on this._

_Standing on the porch steps, Will crossed his arms. "I've been healing for nearly a month. It wasn't even that serious to begin with!" Halt didn't listen, however, and turned Abelard's face down the path, away from him._

_Gilan followed Halt's cue, and mounted Blaze. He threw a glance at Halt's receding figure before turning to Will._

* * *

Alyss also recognized what was in front of them. She reached forward, curling a hand around Will's elbow. His face, mostly shadowed and covered by his cowl, was unreadable. His body was partially leaned forward, almost as if he was going to vomit, but his mouth was shut tight. His mouth, a thin line. His nose, scrunched up, as if he was smelling something sour.

* * *

_The tall Ranger smiled sadly at Will. "I think we both know why Halt doesn't want you to come, Will."_

* * *

Will's mouth opened. The courier at first thought he was going to say something, but instead the Ranger let out a shaky gasp. His legs seemed to be slowly losing the capability of holding up his weight.

As he let out a second gasp, she caught sight of the tears making tracks down his face.

* * *

_Will scowled, but didn't interrupt as Gilan continued. "You're too close to this one. There's no doubt that you'd eventually be influenced by something that would happen."_

_At that, Will stepped down from the porch steps, leaning heavily on the railing to take the pressure off his partially healed leg. There was only sympathy on Gilan's face. But to Will, it nearly looked like pity. "You think this one's too personal for me, that's it?"_

_Gilan shifted his seat. He looked uncomfortable, as if he knew he shouldn't be telling Will this. "It is, Will. Do I really need to say why?"_

* * *

Just when he thought he got control over himself, his legs collapsed. Alyss' grip on his arm slipped off.

His knees splashed down in the pool of blood.

* * *

_Anger flashed in Will's eyes, but instead of saying anything, he turned his back on Gilan. He stalked up the steps, no longer caring if he put too much pressure on his leg. As he got to the door, he opened it, and stepped partially over the threshold. He hesitated._

_Gilan looked after his friend, and as he hesitated in the doorway, Gilan said quietly, "See you soon, Will."_

_Instead of responding, Will glared over his shoulder, and slammed the door._

* * *

Alyss kneeled down beside Will, wrapping her arms around him. She pulled him towards her, and felt as he numbly let her.

* * *

_Will tapped the table._

_He hasn't drinken any coffee all week, and she wondered why._ _Alyss glanced out the window, and saw the sun on the horizon._

_"It wasn't supposed to take more than a few days," Will murmured. He stared at the filled mug, but didn't touch the cooling contents._

_Alyss reached over the table, and took his hand in hers, not knowing what to say._

* * *

They sat there for a few minutes. Will, numb, leaning against Alyss. And Alyss, with herarms around him.

Neither of them could tear their eyes away from the bodies.

Alyss just barely recognized their faces.

Will only remembered how he argued with Halt, and how he slammed the door on Gilan, who had just been trying to help. And now he could never apologize.


	29. Night Terrors

_The bandit's knife glinted in the moonlight, as he twisted it against the child's throat. He was short, stout, a patchy stubble crusted with food, his mouth twisted in a snarl. His beefy arm was wrapped around the boy's neck, with the child's small hands gripping his forearm tightly, trying to raise himself enough to keep the knife from biting into his skin._

_Will warily stepped forward again, keeping his drawn bow aimed at the bandit's face. He couldn't risk a chest shot, nor a throat shot. The end result would be ugly, but it'd get the job done. "Let him go," Will murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the pair. He couldn't be distracted, not at this point._

_Sneering, the bandit took a step back, dragging the young boy with him. His face was already tear stained, and the boy let out a whimper, and began to kick his feet, helpless to the bandits actions. Will's eyes narrowed._

_Taking another step forward, the Ranger prepared to loose the shot._

_Something flicked in the corner of his eye._

_Something orangish._

_He ignored it, keeping his focus on the bandit. Now he couldn't be distracted by the boy. Will tuned out the whimpers, felt the taunt string on his fingers. And released._

_At that last second, he realized his mistake._

_Instead of the arrow flashing towards the bandits face, it had been aimed at the child's chest._

_Will jerked his arm, hoping to be able to intercept the arrow before it hit, maybe knock it to the side, get the child out of the way - the boy staggered, shock transforming his face into one Will would never be able to forget. The horror. Terror. Pain._

_He stood there for a moment, his bow arm twisted a bit, his bow titled and held out. His opposite arm dropped slowly, limp. His mouth open in disbelief. He had just shot a helpless child._

_Orange flickered all around his vision. His eyes were wide as he watched the bandit drop the boy's body, confusion on his face. More flickering orange practically covering everything. The man laughed. He held his gut, and threw back his head, laughing at the boy's dead body. Laughed. At the child's corpse._

_Will stood there, helpless. Stunned._

_The fire raged up, all around him._

_Now, instead of the forest they were originally standing on, they stood on a bridge. It was wide, held up by thick cables. And the cables were snapping, throwing the platform from side to side. Jerking everything around. Through the roaring of the fire, the bandit's laughs were getting louder, and louder. Warping in sound, they went from man to practical snarling._

_His nose and mouth elongated, giving him a muzzle, and his back arched. At first, Will thought he was watching a werewolf transformation, seeing the dogish traits appear but . . . when the fur started to grow, and his arms hunched forward, he knew it was no "werewolf". The wargal snarled at him, swiping out its clawed fist. Will held his bow up in a desperate attempt to block it, but the bow shattered, and he stumbled back on the impact. He stumbled towards the edge, towards the abyss._

_The wargal marched towards him as he teetered on the edge, and in the distance he heard a familiar shriek that made his blood run cold._

_A kalkara stood in front of him, unaffected by the fire. It shrieked again, snapped out at him._

_And he felt his feet slip from the edge of the burning bridge._

_And he fell._

* * *

And he fell, straight back into the world of the conscious.

He jerked up, kicking back to suffocating covers, and stumbling up off the bed. He gasped for breath, and stood there for a moment, doubled over, clutching at his throat. He could feel the sweat drip down his spine, his forehead. He couldn't _breathe._ Will stood up straight, took a long deep breath, and exhaled silently. He dropped his hands from his neck, and instead wrapped them around his damp torso. He was shaking. He took more breaths, measuring them, and letting them out slowly, all the while staring at the blank wall.

_I need to breathe._

Taking a brief glance to the sleeping form of his wife, Will crept out of the room, intending to go sit on the porch. His hand slipped on the door handle, making a loud twanging sound. He winced, and glanced back towards Alyss. She hadn't moved. Taking the door handle again, making sure he had a firm grip on it, he opened the door and slipped out into the main room.

It was dark. The fireplace was cold, the curtains closed. Moonlight streamed through a crack in the curtains, and through it, he could see rain pouring down. Knowing that the roof of the porch had a few leaks, which he had been procrastinating fixing, he decided to stay inside. Taking another deep breath, he moved towards the couch in front of the dead fireplace. He practically fell into it. Hands on his knees, bare chest still heaving with the need for air, he stared at the bricks.

And continued to stare at them.

And continued to stare at them as his breath evened, as the nightmare slowly faded from his memory. He was still shaken up by it - what if he'd actually shot a child? What if the kalkara _weren't_ dead?

As he took in another shaky breath, a hand gently touched his shoulder.

Will flinched away from the contact, it sending a shock down his body.

"Will?" Alyss murmured. Her hair was disheveled, a tired look in her eyes. She had their comforter wrapped around her shoulders, and the sleeve of her nightdress had slipped down her arm. "Are you okay, babe?" She moved around the back of the couch, and sat down next to him on his other side. She swept the covers off her shoulders, and moved them so they covered both of their laps. She sat silently next to him, studying the side of his face. He didn't know if he should turn to face her, or if he would start crying.

The boy's shocked face still hadn't faded.

His head dropped, and he rested it in his hands. He bent over his knees, biting the inside of his cheek. He didn't want to cry. Not now. Instead of letting the tears spill, he let out a long groan, shutting his eyes tight. No matter what, the kid's face wasn't going away. He could only see the flames, the child's shocked and confused and pained face, and then the wargal, the kalkara.

He couldn't breathe.

"Nightmare?" A soft voice beside him asked. Without ever acknowledging he knew who it was, he nodded. Now he bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood. "Will, hun," there was concern in the voice.

Will felt gentle, familiar arms go around his waist, a body pressed against him. A head tucked in by his neck. It took him a moment to realize that they - _no_ , his wife, Alyss, was hugging him. For a moment he tensed up, but she resituated herself, bringing an arm around his shoulders, and pulling him closer.

He practically melted into her arms.

* * *

Will woke to sunlight streaming through the window. He looked about himself, taking in the fact that he lay on the couch in the main room, instead of in his own bed. He also took in that Alyss lay curled up with him, and that their comforter lay atop them. Through the cracked curtains, he could see water dripping from the porch roof.

He looked down to Alyss, studying her sleeping figure. Her head had been on his chest, but had slipped to his shoulder when he had sat up. What kept her from completely falling off him was that his arm was around her. Her hair, recently trimmed to just below her chin, lay fanned around her head. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth bent into a content smile. The Ranger smiled, studying her. After a few minutes, he laid back down, and closed his eyes. He could sleep for a little longer.


	30. Black Smoke

Horace leaned back, stretching his legs out. Hands on his stomach, an empty plate before him, Will watched in amusement as the stuffed knight seemed to look around him, searching for more food. Edwina was already overworked as it was, so without a word, Will pushed his half-finished plate across the table the two friends shared. Horace's eyes questioned him, so the Ranger shrugged the question away, and waved for Horace to dive. They sat at one of the tables outside of Edwina's Inn, preferring the cool spring hair, compared to the stuffy inside.

Taking one look at Horace, Will turned in his seat, studying the bustling activity of Seacliffe. As people passed by, some would wave to him, or nod politely, and continue on their way. Well into his second year at the small sea-side fief, everyone knew him by sight, and he knew everyone by sight. Even at the moment, he wasn't wearing his cloak, and his sleeves were rolled up, people still knew who he was.

Horace, however, they didn't know. When people passed by, all they'd see is a tall man with two plates in front of him. Some would give the knight a confused look, while glancing back and forth between the Ranger and the knight, while some would look once, and turn away. They knew Will, but not his companion, and so assumed that he was working, rather than entertaining a friend. Horace _was_ supposed to be teaching a few classes at the Seacliffe Battleschool, but this was Horace's first time being here, and his first time seeing the state that the Battleschool was actually in. As far as Will knew, Horace had taken one look at the students, shook his head, and said he'd come in tomorrow. And everyone would have to be up at first light.

No one knew what the knight was planning.

Will didn't care much, however. He knew that Seacliffe was slacking in a few categories, and they only started getting their act together recently, which was mainly due to Will's arrival.

As another friendly neighbor waved to Will, Edwina came out to collect their plates. Horace had long cleared Will's half-finished plate, and was silently studying his friend's face.

Horace waited until Edwina, whom he had been introduced to, left. "So, how's the rest of the fief?"

Glancing back to Horace, Will shrugged, and continued studying those who passed by. "Okay. I was hoping by the time we got back from Macindaw that they'd have everything sorted out, but obviously not. Technically, I'm supposed to report to Duncan if a Baron isn't doing his job."

Grimacing, Horace turned to watch the street with his friend. They sat together silently, watching.

In the distance, something in the sky bothered the Ranger. It was a clear day, but thick black smoke was curling into the sky. _Very_ thick, black smoke. Others in the street seem to see it, but no one panicked. Most probably assumed it was nothing, or being handled. He hesitated only for a moment, before he decided he would need to go check out what it was. Horace could stay at the castle, or follow, Will assumed. It wouldn't matter, and Horace wouldn't mind.

He stood, and Horace followed without question.

* * *

They headed to the Oscar's, mainly because it seemed like the direction the smoke was coming from. The Oscar's were a farming family, with two sons and a young daughter. Will didn't know the woman's or the son's names, but he had met Samwell, the father, and Victoria, the daughter, on multiple occasions. The daughter was inquisitive, and, Will sometimes thought, would make an exceptional Ranger.

Horace had elected to follow Will, in case his help was needed. The Ranger doubted that anything serious was actually happening. Fires happened normally, and it was rare that someone got caught in one. Most knew to get out, and stay out.

But -

But what?

What happened after that?

Nothing.

It was blank.

A man, presumably Sam, had come running up the track, exclaiming the need of Will's help.

Everything was black smoke and pain afterwards.

* * *

_Will slipped underneath the fallen beam, ignoring Horace's calls to slow down behind him. Victoria, he knew, was still somewhere within the burning barn ahead of him._

_"Will! Will, the place will fall-" whatever the knight had been about to say was cut off as he broke down in the fit of coughing._

_"Horace, get out of here," he called back, ignoring the pain as a flame licked his face._

* * *

What else had happened?

Where was Horace?

Will struggled to open his eyes, but he sensed a bright light. And voices. The air had a clean scent, like everything was newly sanitized, or washed. The infirmary had a smell like this, but the one at Seacliffe was rarely used, and didn't even have someone adequate to fill the healer position.

* * *

_He found Victoria, curled up near the back. Her back pushed up against the wall, Will had nearly missed her. She was dressed in clothes like her brothers, and her bare feet were scorched black. She gripped her legs close, and her head was shoved down._

_Will, already bent over, kneeled beside her, thankful that the flames hadn't reached this far back yet. The downside was that the closest exit was covered in flames. How would they get out?_

_Putting a hand on her shoulder, he bent down towards her -_

* * *

Did Victoria ever get out of the fire? Did he? What happened?

"Will?" a voice murmured, concern nearly giving it solid form.

"W-wha?" He said. Or at least tried to say. Something made it hard to speak - to breathe.

* * *

_"Victoria!" Will yelled through to her. He held his sleeve up to his mouth, hoping to keep most of the smoke out. He knew it wouldn't work, but what else was he supposed to do? His eyes watered, and when she didn't respond, he felt a cold dread spread through him. Was he too late? Was she already gone?_

_Her body stirred, more of a response to his touch, rather than his voice._

_Removing his hand from her shoulder, he put his fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse._

* * *

Instead of a response, Will felt his head lifted, sending a shock of pain down his spine. He opened his mouth to cry out, but before he did, a cold glass was put to his lips. Coughing, as water went in as he gasped inwards, he spluttered for a moment.

And then his eyes opened, and he was blinded by whiteness.

* * *

From the adrenaline, and maybe, possibly, hitting his head on his way out, what Horace remembered wasn't much better than Will's memory.

Horace had followed Will into the burning barn, but had to turn back nearly right away. As the Ranger went deeper, the flames got stronger, he could tell. A beam fell between the two, but Will seemed not to notice. Horace had called, but had been ignored. Soon, Will was lost to sight, and he was forced to turn back without his friend.

He and the rest of the family, minus Victoria, and a few neighbors, stood back, watching the flames get bigger and stronger. It was too big to try and put out, so they just had to let it go until it burned itself out.

And there was still no sign of Will or the girl.

* * *

". . . and then we heard someone yelling. I went around the side, and saw that you two had somehow gotten out the side. I assumed at first that you got out the side window, as you were right next to it, but there was no possible way you got out that way. Flames were in the window. When I got closer to you, I realized that you risked falling into the hay from the _second floor_ when I got closer. If you're wondering, that's why you're not supposed to be standing. You sprained your ankle in the fall."

"What about Victoria?"

"She was limp when she fell, and didn't get any other injuries besides the minor burns and the smoke inhalation."

"She's all right then?"

"Yeah, fine. She's actually been asking about you, but since you haven't woken until now, I haven't been able to say much. Just that you weren't majorly injured and were just knocked out from a combination of smoke inhalation and hitting your head."


	31. Scars

Normally a much easier task, Will tugged the shirt over his head, wincing as he felt his side throb with pain. Throwing the sweat soaked shirt onto his bed, he twisted and looked down at the side of his torso. It was bruised black and deep purple, and he was sickened to see some green around it as well. Gently poking around the bruise, he felt a rib move, and gasped as the pain was amplified, and sent a shock up his body. Groaning, he snatched his hand away, but continued to stare down at the bruise. 

He honestly hated when things like this happened.  

It was just supposed to be a simple catch and arrest process but the robbers just _had_ to put up a damn fight. Somehow, they had taken him by surprise when attacked, and he'd dropped to the ground to evade a sword swipe. When attempting to get back to his feet, his heel slipped on slick blood. Where had the blood came from, he didn't know, and at that moment he cursed whoever had left it there. As he slipped, he fell back onto his bottom, barely missing a kick aimed for his face. They were in a narrow hallway in the house that the robbers were stealing from, and could only come at him one at a time. The next kick he took in the ribs, hence the bruise and broken rib.  

At that moment, Horace finally decided to come up the steps, startling the robbers. Will had taken advantage of their momentary surprise, and kicked one's legs out. The rest was history -- as in Horace took out the rest after throwing a few punches. 

Will continued to stare at his side, although his eyes no longer focused on the bruise.  

Luckily, this injury wouldn't leave a mark. No extra scar, no stitches to get, no blood. Sighing, Will dropped his hands, letting them hang at his sides, all the while he continued to stare down at the bruise. Just next to it was a whitened scar, from a few years back when he'd taken a dagger in his side. It was mostly superficial, but it had still hurt like hell, required stitches, and stained his shirt badly enough that he had to throw it away.  

There were also scars that Will couldn't see at the moment, but he knew they were there. He'd taken a few lashes back when he was a slave in Skandia, although he couldn't remember what he did to deserve the punishment, or even the pain. There was a small, ragged scar from where an arrow had slammed into his calf, and had to be cut out. Although under the opposite eye, he had one similar to Horace's small scar that he'd gotten in a knife fight. At least his nose hadn't been broken, like the knight's. He did have a scar on his left arm when his bone had snapped, and the bone had broken through the skin. There were also numerous miniature cuts on his fingers from when his knife slipped when he was feathering his arrows.  

That wasn't even going into all the small near misses he had when someone swung a sword his way, and he'd only _just_ got out of the way in time. They criss-crossed across his stomach and chest, some thin, others thicker. A few had required stitches. Others hadn't. 

Will vaguely recalled his Skandian friend Erak saying something about someone who had too many scars. That they didn't know how to duck, or something similar. That they were too reckless, impulsive, brash. Foolish, even. 

He let his eyes drift from his bruise and scar, and continued to stare at the hardwood floor. Horace would be expecting him out in the main room of the cabin, and yet here he was, contemplating these scars all over again. It wasn't as if he had to see them every night, and think about the same points every time. Was he reckless? Was he impulsive? 

There was a brief knock on the door, and when it was pushed open, Will realized he'd probably been thinking too long.  

"Will? You okay, bud?" Horace stepped through the doorway, hands casually stuffed into his pockets. It was too late to put on a shirt, so the Ranger just stood there, feeling the blood rush up to his face.  

With no response, Horace took a closer look at Will. The Ranger seemed nearly frozen in fear, but there was nothing wrong that the knight could see. No one else besides them were in the room, and there was nothing out of place as far as he could tell. There was a large, dark bruise that was sort of worrying on Will's side, and that also lead to the possibility to having a broken rib. But otherwise, he seemed normal. 

"Damn, that looks bad. Did you feel to see if it's broken?" Horace stepped forward, motioning towards the bruise. "Want me to check?" 

Horace's eyes stayed between Will's own startled face, and the concerning bruise, the Ranger noticed. His eyes never strayed, didn't go to the scars across his chest, nor the curious V shaped ragged scar on his arm where the bone had broken through. There was also a long, but shallow cut that was more recent, from when a crossbow quarrel had just missed burying itself in his chest. It hadn't required a bandage or stitches, so it stood out bare. 

There was only his question in his eyes, though, as if Horace was already used to those scars. 

As if he didn't even notice them. 

Now the knight was next to Will, nearly a head taller, and was staring into his eyes. Concern was nearly screaming from Horace's body as he  reached out to Will, but instead of putting the hand on his bruise to check for the break, it was gently placed on the V scar on his arm. His other hand came out, and was placed on his opposite shoulder, just near the top of the quarrel cut.  

As if he knew where each one was. 

As if he'd memorized them, and knew their placement and shape without seeing. 

A small smile broke through Horace's curtain of concern, and he leaned forward marginally, placing his lips against his partner's forehead. And, as if he had known what Will had been thinking of earlier, Horace whispered, with his lips still pressed against Will's forehead, "And I know every story behind each one." 


	32. Take Care

The man lunged just as Will jumped back, narrowly avoiding the slash of the short sword. As the sword came back around, the bandit stepped forward, and the apprentice Ranger brought up his saxe, intending to parry. It was a feint, one which he hadn't noticed, and the sword switched around, and came down from the other side.

Once again, Will was able to jump to the side, but this time he wasn't fast enough. He felt the sword bite into his upper arm, cutting through flesh, and scraping bone.

He cried out, stumbling to the side. Dropping his saxe, his hand instinctually came up to cover the wound. He realized his mistake moments later.

But it didn't matter. Halt's arrow slammed into the bandit, throwing him back and eliminating the threat.

Will fell to his knees, relieved that the situation was over and done with.

"Will!" Halt ran up to him, dropping his bow to the ground. Concern was evident in his every movement, which surprised the apprentice.

The Ranger went to his knees beside his apprentice, reaching out to see the injury. Will had never really been injured badly during his apprenticeship, none around Halt. Now, seeing the worry in the Ranger's face at the blood on his sleeve was kind of . . . relieving to him. Lately, Halt had been giving him more independence, letting him go out to handle things on his own. And while it was nice, it also felt . . . like they saw less of each other. Will was almost convinced that Halt didn't care that much.

"Let me see," the Ranger murmured, gently prying Will's stiff fingers away from the wound. He briefly examined it, before pulling his own throwing dagger and cutting the sleeve away.

"Hey!" Will began to protest, seeing the cloth fall away. He would have to sew that up later! But just as he thought that, the pain finally registered with him. It throbbed, and he watched as the blood pumped out with it. Clenching his jaw, Will stared wide-eyed down his arm as Halt began to clean it.

Cleaning up the blood that had streamed down Will's arm, Halt quickly examined the cut. "Stitches," he muttered. Will's eyes widened, but he said nothing as he watched Halt call over Abelard, Tug following behind, and stood to look for his first-aid kit.

The apprentice turned away when he saw the string and needle being brought out.

He winced every time he felt the needle slid in, sending shivers up his spine. On the second or third time, Halt gently said, "Calm down, Will, it's fine." The pain had been more than what he was expecting, for the cut. It was just an arm wound, should it have really hurt this much?

Eventually, he felt a bandage being wrapped around his arm, and he glanced back up to Halt. "Sorry, Halt," he mumbled, sure that his mentor would be disappointed.

Halt grimaced, glancing over to Will. "Just take care of yourself, Will, and you won't have to go through this again," he said, a bit gruffly.

At first, Will believed that Halt thought nothing of it, considering he was usually that gruff. But something had sounded odd. Something had been beneath that gruffness.

Will smiled, realizing he had been told what had been underneath it already. "Thanks, Halt," Will sighed, looking down on the bandage, which already had a fresh blood stain showing through. Glancing back up, Will studied the face of his mentor. Seconds later, Halt's eyes flicked over to meet his. Raising his eyebrow, the Ranger stood up stiffly.

"Let's go, then."


	33. Bullies

Will didn't know why he did it, but the moment he heard ' _You're so pathetic'_ , his ears perked, and focused into the apprentice's conversation behind him. He doubted that they knew he was sitting there, at the edge of the Gathering Grounds, but they should have realized that, surrounded by fifty Rangers, they probably weren't going to get away with much.

That included bullying.

Doubting that they were paying attention to where he was seated on the log, Will spun his legs up and around, facing the other way. He sat within the edge, while the apprentices where just near the edge, and through the trees, the young Ranger counted three to one. Three bullies, one victim.

Uncomfortable memories surged up, but instead of interrupting the kids' tirad, he leaned forward. Placing his elbows on his knees, Will watched from a distance. Waiting. Watching.

"Why were you even chosen? Seems like you can't even hold the bow upright, and a Ranger needs to be able to hold their weapons the right way," one of the boys sneered. Beside him, a taller girl with blonde hair laughed. And beside him, a shorter boy with brown hair, with crossed arms and a look of absolute disdain in his eyes.

In front of them, a first year apprentice. Long black hair spilled over the back of her cloak, identifying her to Will as Terence's new apprentice, from Southaven fief. Her name was . . . Kristen. He didn't recognize the other apprentices, even though they seemed like third or fourth years.

"I bet you'll drop out within the year," the blonde girl snapped. The other boy nodded, and as he did, he inched forward slightly. His back being partially turned to Will, he was able to see that the boy held a belt within the folds of his cloak.

He stood, realizing what might happen.

Slipping forward silently, Will appeared, at least to the apprentices, suddenly, and without warning.

"What you guys talking about all the way over here," Will said cheerfully, throwing his hood back. He set a hand on Kristen's shoulder calmly, drawing her closer to him. He knew they wouldn't risk attacking her with him here, but just in case . . .

The three other apprentices stumbled back, horrified expression on all of their faces. "Wi-Will!"

Smiling, Will gave each of them a meaningful look, "Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something? It's just that Terence probably forgot to tell Kristen something, so I thought I'd check for him," he looked down to the girl, who looked up at him, a thankful look in her eyes. "There are a few reasons to be kicked out of the Corps, but the reasons for a graduated Ranger are different than an apprentice. Did you hear them?"

The girl shook her head.

Will continued, his grin widening. Everyone there knew what he was doing, but no one voiced a word. "An apprenticeship can get terminated for a few different reasons. Most of them include foolish actions, breaking the laws, endangering others, and, depending on how severe, negative behavior towards other members. A graduated Ranger can get kicked out for the same reason, but the actions have to be much more exaggerated," Will paused, waiting for it to sink in. "We clear?"

* * *

 

Leaning back, Will put his feet up against the trunk. From a distance, he could see third year apprentice Kristen speaking to another apprentice with short blonde hair. As he watched, two other apprentices ran up, two boys.

Will wiggled himself, trying to find a more comfortable position as he watched the apprentices practice.

If he remembered correctly, Terence, Kristen's master, had gone on a mission with another Ranger, the blonde girl's master, to be precise. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but the next time a Gathering came around, the two girls were friends.

Smiling, Will recalled his relationship with his abuser.

Make that _former_ abuser.


	34. Lunch for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prelude to Dinner for Five from the Lost Stories.

Jenny slammed the door shut, pushing all of her employees into the kitchens. That left her and Will alone in the main dining room of her eating house.

Will himself sat on top of the middle table, looking warily at his friend as she walked around behind the bar counter, grabbing cups and putting them on racks.

"It's just so frustrating, Will! How am I supposed to run a business when it seems like nothing is going right? It's just so stressful!" The cook slammed a few more cups onto their racks, surprising the Ranger that they managed to stay in one piece. "I knew running a business would be hard, but why can't _others_ see that?" Jenny shoved something into a drawer, slamming it shut before turning back to Will.

All Will had wanted was a nice lunch, but he ended up catching Jenny at a bad time. Everything was stressing her out, and to her, it seemed like none of her employees were helping her at all. But he'd seen them offering help, seen them try to take her burdens off her shoulders. And so he stayed, trying to calm her down, but being so far unsuccessful.

The Ranger ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Jenny, the others _do_ see it. The problem is—"

Jenny angrily threw down the ladle she had been carrying. "No! They don't see it! They sit around, doing nothing, letting me do everything—"

Throwing up his hands, Will interrupted, "Jenny! I can guarantee that they're trying to help you! They've offered to help, but you just brush them off!"

The chef paused, a moment's hesitation flashing across her face, before she shook her head, "No! I wouldn't do that, that wouldn't make—"

"Any sense?" Will offered.

She nodded, doubt clouding her face. Slowly, she picked her ladle back up, sliding it into one of her pockets. Pausing, she looked back to Will, who had moved to sit cross-legged atop the middle table. "Do I really brush them off?"

Will nodded, a small smile crossing his lips.

Jenny made her way around the bar, heading towards Will, but stopping before she passed the bar. "Oh," she murmured simply.

Hopping down from his perch on the table, Will made his way to her, weaving through a few chairs to come face to face with her. "Jenny," Will said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "maybe you could use some time off. If things are getting to you this much, maybe what you need to do is give them _all_ of the responsibility—"

"No, no, nope, sorry, no can do," the chef said, slipping out of his reach and back behind the bar. "I cannot trust the entire business with them, they don't know how to run it!"

Waving a hand, Will laughed, "I'm not saying right away, Jenny. But—Let's see," Will paused, considering a few facts. He glanced towards his friend, remembering a few small details from over the years. "How 'bout this," he started. He saw her eyes narrow, but continued anyway. "I'm due to go on a mission with Halt soon, so both of us will be come from the fief. Meaning Gil is going to come in town. Why not have dinner?"

Behind the bar, Jenny froze. "What?"

Before she could say more, Will continued, "It'll only be for a day, unless you decide to do more. Not even a day, just half of one. That way you can have a nice time out, while also being assured that this place was being somewhat run correctly."

Just as he finished, something cracked into his head, and Will staggered back in surprise. His hand came up to cover where he sure a bruise was now forming. "Was that your _ladle?_ " Will gasped.

Jenny scowled, waving her hand back towards the table. "Stay out of my love-life, Treaty, and I'll keep my ladle away from your skull," she turned back towards the kitchen, throwing the door open. "I suppose you want lunch now?"

Will waved his free hand, telling her off. "Jenny! I was just trying to help," he hesitated, "did I hit a touchy subject or something?"

This time, Will had to dodge the ladle as it spun through the air towards him, with horrifying accuracy.


	35. Like Father, Like Son

Will slouched in his seat, visibly upset. And there were plenty of reasons for him to be upset.

The main reason, however, wasn't that they had to be diverted from their break to go deal with this lord, and it wasn't because the rain had made the ride miserable. It was because the "lord" was being an outright bastard.

He obviously knew that he and Alyss were there, as the chamberlain had went into the office and told him. That meant that he knew who Alyss was, at the very least. And still, they waited, while the scrawny man behind the desk scratched away on some random paper.

Alyss felt an odd feeling of déjà vu.

What made things even worse was that Will wasn't wearing his cloak, didn't have his bow with him, and his oak leaf didn't hang out of his collar. Alyss, of course, wore her standard Courier uniform, blue cape and all.

A small bell tinkled, and the chamberlain looked up. "You can go in now," obviously not caring. Alyss pursed her lips, but said nothing. She stood, and walked towards the door, Will only a few steps behind. That's when the man's head snapped up. "You have to stay here . . ." the man hesitated, seeing the weapons at his hip, ". . . Sir."

Smiling, Alyss said, "He's with me," and continued into the office, giving the secretary little thought.

Will gave the man a smile, unsettling in the fact that it never reached his eyes.

Inside the office, Lord Capulet was once again ignoring Alyss. She stood there, staring down at him, waiting to be acknowledged. After a few seconds, and a shared glance with Will, she began talking with no introduction. "Lord Capulet, my name is Lady Alyss Mainwaring, and I've been sent—"

"If this has anything to do with the recent decrease in taxes, I don't want to hear this, darling," the older man snapped, not once looking up from the paperwork.

 _Damn,_ Will thought, _so much paperwork for a town that doesn't even pay their taxes._ He scowled, though, recognizing the distain in the man's voice. Even though the Ranger could only see the man from the waist up, he wasn't that impressive. Pot belly, stained doublet, and food crumbs dropping from his scruffy face. His eyes were bloodshot, probably something caused from the many cups of wine that sat empty upon his desk.

The Courier wasn't to be deterred. "Actually, Sir, it's not a _decrease_. No taxes at all are reaching Redmont, or even Araluen. It's been a full three months since the last payment, so I'm here to check what the problem is."

Capulet threw down his quill, and snatched up a random cup of wine. Downing it, he slammed it back to the table, and looked up blearily to Alyss. "So what _is_ the problem, girl? That's not my fault, so you shouldn't come complaining to me."

From the side, Will saw Alyss clench her jaw. He wasn't faring as well, but the man's gaze wasn't fixed on his furious glare.

Smiling, Alyss tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, actually, it is. You're the Lord of this province, so you're automatically in charge. Meaning things like taxes and citizen well-being is part of your responsibility."

For a moment, it seemed like Capulet might concede, and Alyss and Will could go on their merry way. Except . . .

The man lurched to his feet, sweeping the cups off to the side, throwing empty and full cups. Wine of all different shades went into the air, splashing both Will, Alyss, and the Lord Capulet. The couple stumbled back in surprise, while the drunkard just snarled, "Why, you bitch! You really think you can tell me how to run this damn place? I don't care what you or you're stupid Baron Arald has to say, this is my province! So why don't you," he gestured wildly towards Will, while sweeping wine stained papers off the tabletop, "get your whore out of here, before I-"

* * *

Alyss and Will rode in silence, the small province dwindling in the road behind them. Both had changed out of their wine stained clothes, but only one rode with a smile.

Will glanced towards his wife, appraising the annoyed look on her face. Suddenly, he felt the need to defend himself. "Honey, he deserved it."

She frowned, but didn't look towards Will, as she said, "Yes, I know he deserved it, Will, but that doesn't mean you should have done it. Either way, why did you have to do _that._ "

Shrugging, the Ranger smiled. "Well, it didn't kill him, taught him a lesson, and got rid of the problem all at once."

"Did Halt tell you? To do that?"

It was Will's turn to frown. "Tell me what? To do that? No, why?"

Sighing, Alyss pulled her hair from her face, finally turning to face the Ranger. "He never told you about when he threw someone in a moat? Like what you _just_ did to Lord Capulet?"

Will shook his head, confused.


	36. Questions

Will held up the arrow, trying to catch better light to see if the feathers were straight. From what he could tell, they were, and he put the new arrow down with a satisfied sigh.

It was the last day of the Gathering, and afterwards, he, Halt, and Horace were due to go to Hibernia. He wasn't completely sure about the details, but he assumed that they were going to Clonmel to help Halt's nephew Sean with something.

Standing, Will brushed off his lap, and looked around him. Most Rangers, and apprentices, were relaxing. Most of the testing was finished, as well as the updates that the commandant had to give. No apprentices graduated this year, so there was no party, and no one retired. No one moved fiefs, meaning that everything was staying as it was. Easy. Halt was with Crowley, at a nearby fire, while Gilan was off with the horses.

Feeling a tug at his sleeve, Will turned. Behind him stood one of the middle-year apprentices, although at the moment, Will couldn't recall their name. He smiled, and raised an eyebrow in question. The boy seemed nervous, but he didn't back down when Will motioned for him to say something.

"Ahh, Will . . . " the apprentice hesitated, looking up to him. He was- no _she,_ her hair was cut short. Will smiled at realization, finally knowing he was speaking to. Her name was Peyton, apprenticed to a Ranger named Tate. Peyton continued, having gathered her courage, "I've—I've been confused, about something, W-Will, and Tate, my master, isn't usually open to these kind of questions . . ."

Tilting his head, Will motioned towards the log he had just gotten up from. They sat, Peyton curling her hands atop her knees, and looking to the ground. Her eyes were wide, and she seemed scared, but she took a breath anyways, and continued. "So . . . I really don't know how to describe it, but lately I've just felt . . . weird, with being labeled as a girl," she paused, sneaking a glance at Will, before looking back to the ground. She clenched her fists and jaw, and took a deep breath. "But, you see, 'boy' doesn't feel right either, and I just don't know what I should do?"

Will smiled softly. For some reason, apprentices, and even sometimes graduated Rangers, came to him sometimes. At first, he was annoyed because he thought it was because of his supposed fame. After awhile, though, Gilan had said something that it was because he was just a trusting guy. And within a close-knit group like the Ranger Corps, that was understandable. Maybe.

The point was that Will vaguely recalled someone else saying something like this.

"Actually, Peyton, I think I may know someone who can help you more than I can. But I do have experience with what you're going through, and there's nothing wrong with that. I know Tate, as do you, and if you tell him your final decision, I'm sure he'll be fine with it," Peyton's head had shot up when he started, and the nervous apprentice still refused to look at him. But they stood as he stood, and followed without hesitation when he began to walk. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, and there's actually quite a few more people within the Corps like you than you probably think."

Together, they walked down the length of the Gathering Grounds, one following numbly in awe as the other looked for someone else. Someone who had said something similar to him, years ago.

And there they were.

"Micah! That you?" Will slapped a hand on the shoulder of a younger Ranger, blonde hair up in a ponytail around their head. The Ranger jerked their head up, having been half-asleep from boredom.

"W-wah?" They looked around them, confused. When their eyes landed on Will, they smiled, and patted the log beside them. "Will! Hey, whatcha need?"

Shaking his head, Will gestured towards Peyton behind him, the apprentice's eyes switching between the two of them. "Micah, this is Peyton. I think they have a few questions for you," turning to Peyton, Will smiled. Now whispering, Will motioned back towards Micah, "Peyton-Micah. They went through something similar to you, and are fairly open about it. They won't mind any questions you might pose, so don't worry. If you need anything else, I'll be back where you found me the first time."

They nodded, still looking between Will and Micah. Seeing the look in his eyes, and seeing Micah, Peyton smiled.

"Thank you," they whispered.


	37. What Friends Are For

Horace looked up from his sword, the whetstone going still in his hand. His friend was still slouched over a pile of papers, diligently scratching away on who could've done it, and who it would have been impossible for. Frowning, the knight glanced out the window, curious at the time. _It's probably nearly midnight_ , he reasoned, _why is Will still up?_

Not wanting to hurt Will's feelings, Horace hesitantly put his sword to the side of the chair he was sitting in, and made his way to the kitchen table where he sat. They were alone in the small Ranger's cabin, just the two of them. Halt was out doing rounds of the fief, while Alyss was away at Araluen. Setting a hand on the Ranger's shoulder, Horace shook him a little, concerned, "Will? Why're you still up?"

Will shrugged Horace's hand off his shoulder, eyes fixed on the paper. "Hmm?" He asked distractingly. While he did so, he marked off another name on one of the lists, shaking his head.

"Will," Horace tried again, studying the dark circles underneath his eyes, and the slight jitter in his hands. "You should be resting, this is too much for you."

And it _was_ too much for Will. A child murdered in Wensley village, on his watch. To make it all worse, they had just gotten back from an assignment, one to do with Genovesans. This time around, Will was poisoned. It was meant to be a deadly dose, but since Will normally didn't drink wine, he'd only gotten a fraction of the dispersed poison. Luckily, as well, a skilled healer was on hand at the time, and the poison didn't have the chance to do much damage.

But the fact still remained; Will had nearly died, and he was still recovering. That was why Halt was out patrolling instead of the younger Redmont Ranger. Alyss hadn't been around since they got back, so she didn't even know of Will's condition.

Shaking his head, Will marked off another name, after scribbling out a note on another sheet. "No, no," he murmured, "I have to figure out what happened. What if it happens again?"

Sighing, Horace put his hand back on Will's arm, this time gripping it so the weakened man couldn't just shake it off. "Will, listen to me," he snatched the pencil out of his friend's hand, ignoring his cry of protest, "you have to take a break. You've been at this all day, and you need a break."

He twisted in Horace's grip, trying to get free, "Horace, a _kid_ was _murdered_. What the hell else am I supposed to do?"

Keeping his grip on Will, he pulled the Ranger's arm until he stood to his feet. "I'm honestly not sure Will. I don't know how to find murderers," Horace pushed Will in front of him, and lead him to his room as if he were a prisoner. "But from the way you're acting, you'll exhaust yourself, possibly relapse, and could die. Halt told me to care for you, to not let you stress yourself, so that's what I'm going to do."

At the door, Will spun. He stumbled partially at his sudden movement, and had to grip the doorway to keep from falling into Horace, who was blocking the way. "But what about the kid? We can't just let the guy get away with—"

Horace held up his hands, "And we're not going to let him get away! Halt is due back tomorrow, and you've already gotten pretty far. You'll just have to fill him in."

That made him pause. They stood silently facing each other, Horace standing in front of him to block the way back to the table, Will leaning exhausted against the doorway. And, ever so slowly, the Ranger nodded, a look of defeat mixed with weariness and fatigue. Horace nodded back, smiling, before motioned for Will to lean on him so he could help him to the bed.


	38. Friendly Grandfathers

"She was supposed to be back four days ago," Will whispered. He stared longingly out the window, ignoring both of his friends behind him. Gilan and Horace exchanged a worried glance, but didn't say anything.

Alyss was missing. Supposed to have returned from a mission down south a few days ago, her husband had immediately gotten worried when she didn't show up. Gilan, there because he was filling in for Halt, and Will was recovering from an injury, had promised to keep an eye out for her. Horace, who was visiting to do classes at the Redmont Battleschool, spent most of his spare time with his friend anyway, and shared his worry for her.

Nothing was dangerous about her mission, just routine check-ins with a few people. So it didn't make sense why she was gone.

* * *

_Everything was dusty._

_Alyss felt something coarse around her wrists, which were wrenched painfully behind her back. She was laying on her chest, her cheek pressed up against some rough wood flooring. Something itched her. Hay._

_Something moved underneath her. On a second floor, then?_

_Trying to turn onto her back, she shifted around, kicking around her feet, only to find them tied as well. Kicking some more, her boot connected with a wall, making a loud_ bang!

_"Hey, bitch, quiet down, or I'll make 'ya!"_

_She fell silent, suddenly realizing that she wasn't exactly in the safest position at the moment._

* * *

"She was coming in from the south, right?" Horace said.

Gilan realized what he was saying, seconds too late, "Horace—"

"Yes," Will murmured, seemingly oblivious to Gilan's restrictions.

Sighing, Horace glanced once to Gilan, but back to his friend, "Well, today's just started. I'm not doing anything, neither are you. I don't know about you, Gil," Horace started, motioning towards the taller Ranger, "but we could just ride for, a day, maybe, and look for signs. She had a full guard with her, so if someone . . ." He hesitated, but continued when Will turned with a curious look in his eye, ". . . if someone _took her_ , then it should be obvious to professional trackers, like the two of you."

Will sat up, pushing away from his perch on the windowsill.

"So you think someone took her," he said bluntly.

The despair in his eyes hurt Horace, but he continued anyways, "We-Well, it's a possibility," Gilan shot him a death glare, "but it's also a possibility that they just ran a little late, and are coming up the road right now."

Silence stretched between the three of them. Gilan, already armed, stood to the side, knowing that either way, he would be dragged into this. Horace was dressed, and only had to grab his sword. Will looked between the two of them, before walking past them, and into his room.

* * *

_She could hear them moving around below her. Since she had woken up, she'd figured that she was in a barn, in the upper hay loft. She had no clue as to if her guards were dead or alive, or if they were in the barn with her._

_They made clanking sounds, wood against wood, sometimes steel against wood. Chopping wood?_

_Shifting around again, Alyss tried to turn onto her chest again, finding it hard to breathe being shoved onto her face. Plus, hay was getting down her shirt, making it all the more uncomfortable._

_Steps made their way up the loft ladder, so she went still._

_"Hey, bitch, you better stop moving around or I'll end it faster than you deserve," a gruff voice said._

_The steps came to rest next to her, and suddenly she felt hands go around her waist. She gasped, and began to kick once more, but whoever held her was too strong._

* * *

Will sat atop Tug, his cloak wrapped around him, his longbow resting on the saddle in front of him. Horace rode beside him, high above him on Kicker.

Gilan rode in front of them, ever vigilant.

They were only a few kilometers south of Wensley, and already they were wary. Right when they were leaving, a band of Redmont guards were riding in, most of them walking. Most were bruised or battered or both, and none were okay.

And Alyss wasn't with them. Will had recognized some of them as being her guards. They remembered being attacked. They didn't remember what happened to her. They woke up, unsure on if it had been a day, or a few days.

The trio sent them back to the castle to report, and to tell the Baron that they were already dealing with it.

After they continued on their way, Will dropped his head. What happened to her?

* * *

_The man pressed her to his chest, and even as she struggled, she felt him move deeper across the loft. He laughed, she felt it, a deep rumbling laugh, one she would normally associate with a friendly grandfather character._

_She didn't think this man was friendly, or a grandfather._

_He threw her down, and even though she once more landed on her chest, she was able to use the momentum, and turn herself around. Not that it helped, but she could breath._

_Looking up, trying to see the man's face, she was dismayed to see his back already receding down the steps. Even if she did get out of this one, she wouldn't have a face for Will to look for._

_Will._

_Panic crawled up her throat, choking her. Were they going to kill her? Why? Was it something she did, or Will?_

_Was he looking for her?_

* * *

"That's her horse," Will pointed towards a white mare, saddled, and tied to tree. Nearby, an old barn sat empty, abandoned.

As they watched, a group of men filed out, the barn apparently _not_ empty. The last man out, a big burly guy with dark bushy hair, turned around, and crouched briefly at the door.

"What is he doing?" Horace whispered, coming up next to Will. Gilan sat numbly beside them, taking it all in.

The man stood, a bright stick in his hand. A torch. Realization dawned on them moments too late.

Before Will could gallop forward, Gilan snatched out, grabbing Tug's reins, and dragging his head back.

" _NO!"_ He screamed, sliding off Tug's saddle. He landed on his leg, which crumpled underneath him at the sudden pressure, the wound ripping back open. Horace jumped from Kicker's saddle, kneeling beside Will.

Gilan was the one to ride forward, an arrow already released, and chasing after the man who had lit the fire.

As they watched, the old barn succumbed to flames already digging deep.

It fell.

* * *

Alone, Horace sifted through the wreckage of the barn. Gilan was left to deal with the few people they caught, and Will was barely awake after the shock of reopening his leg wound, and what happened—what happened to Alyss.

They hadn't been able to do anything about to fire. It was too big, and they were only three people. It was an old barn, filled with hay, so it burned fast.

Horace kicked at another piece of scorched wood. The barn collapsed, and put out a lot of the fire, but that didn't stop it burning.

* * *

Will was curled on his side, a fresh wrapping of bandages tight around his knee. His back was to the barn, where he knew Horace was looking for _her_ body. Gilan was away from the camp, dealing with a few of the prisoners.

He didn't want to be there at all. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, shoving his face into Horace's pack, which he was using as a pillow.

"Will?" A voiced said from in front of him.

A chill went up his spine, and he looked up, opening his eyes.

Alyss stood in front of him, riding clothes dusted with hay and soot, hair a mess and singed. Shaken, but otherwise—

Alive.


	39. What's Said and Meant

She looked down on the body, suddenly aware of what she had taken. A life. The dead man at her feet had had a family. Possibly children. Was someone expecting him to come home? Expecting him to bring home money, unaware with how he was getting it?

He'd had something sacred—a life. And she had taken it.

A hand touched the small of her back, comforting, but also concerned.

"I killed him," she said simply.

 _I took his potential,_ she meant.

* * *

Will stared at the side of her face, trying to catch her attention. Was she in shock? He remembered how he felt when he killed his first man. The first thing he killed was a wargal, but to him, a wargal was just like killing a deer. He first killed a man during the battle for Skandia. It didn't register with him until later, the realization that he took another human's life.

Even if they were doing wrong with it.

He brought his other hand around, drawing her to his chest. She folded easily, letting her cheek drop numbly onto his shoulder.

Clutching her tightly, he whispered, "You had no choice."

Tightening his grip, he realized he meant, _It was either you, or him._

* * *

She wasn't sure if she wanted to throw up, or pass out. Or both.

No matter how tightly Will held her, no matter what sweet comforts he whispered in her ear, she could still feel the _other's_ presence. Beneath her feet.

What life had they had in front of them? More thieving, and killing? Or a possible reform, where they would keep others from going down the same road they had?

What if she was supposed to have been the person to encourage reform? But instead, she killed him.

Closing her eyes, she buried her face into the Ranger's shoulder. "I don't like this."

Opening her eyes, she looked over Will's shoulder, into the forest. _I should have saved him_ , she meant.

* * *

After the battle, the realization that he had taken another person's life sunk in. He lay haunted in his borrowed bed, staring at the ceiling 'till come daybreak. Halt found him that way, worried what the sights of the war had done to his apprentice's dreams.

It wasn't a good feeling.

Will sighed, knowing what she was going through. Instead of comfort, he decided to go with the truth: "You never will."

_You did what was right._

* * *

Alyss suddenly pulled away, pushing Will to an arms length away. She stared at him, tears blurring her vision.

"Why did I have to kill him," she said.

"He was going to kill you."

"He could have been _something."_

"He was going to be a _killer._ "

"I could have helped him, Will. I shouldn't have acted so rashly, I could have—"

"You could have done nothing. He was set on it, Alyss. The only thing you could have done was stop him."

"But did that have to include _killing_ him?"

"In this instance, yes," Will said bluntly, "Your only option was kill, or be killed. You did nothing wrong."

Alyss sniffled, rubbing her eyes so she could see once more. "I feel horrible, it's just doesn't seem right, taking another's life."

Will reached up, cupping her cheek in his palm, drawing her closer with his other hand. "And he should have known that."

Pausing, the Courier looked at Will's eyes, studying everything she saw in them. They touched foreheads, just as she voiced her last question: "Does it ever get easier?"

He stared back with the same scrutiny, knowing what she was looking for in his eyes. Deception.

"No," he said, his eyes steady, "not ever."


	40. The Lies in the Stars

Will sighed, and rolled over onto his back to stare at the night sky. It was pretty, the stars spread out on the dark expanse of the sky. Sort of calming.

But seeing the sky like that, seeing it spread out in the way that it was, almost felt suffocating. Soon enough, it _was_ suffocating him, and he had to get away from it. But it was the sky, and he couldn't exactly run from that.

So instead, he rolled onto his side, and covered his head with his arms, and shut his eyes tight.

"Will?" a voice murmured. Soft. Sweet.

Alyss.

"Will, what're you doing out here?"

His eyes popped open. The sky was still wide and dark above him, but now he noticed what else was around him. Trees. Grass. He was in the clearing, by the cabin, laying in the center. And she stood on the porch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, covering her bare body from the cool air.

"I was looking at the stars," he said back. It was the middle of the night, he wore only pants, and the cool, dew covered grass felt nice on his sweat covered body. His arms were spread out to his sides, and even though he couldn't force himself to focus back on the stars without a strange feeling, he still wanted to stay out here.

"Why?" she stepped from the porch, and walked barefoot towards him.

"They looked nice from inside," he lied. He couldn't tell her the truth. Not her.

"Don't lie to me," she said back, blatantly calling him out on it. She now stood above him, her feet by his head, looking down on him. He made a point not to look up the blanket, but instead looked to her eyes.

"Why do you think I lied?"

"Because you always lie about the stars."

Frowning, Will watched her as she laid down beside him, making a point to make sure that the blanket was underneath her bottom before cuddling up next to him. "But why would I lie about the stars?" he asked.

Alyss shrugged, "Because you and the stars share secrets."

"That doesn't make any sense," he pointed out, turning to look at her. But also to block the stars from his eyes.

She seemed to consider her answer. But then she turned to face Will, so they were nose to nose. "Will, you share things with the stars that you find too unbearable to tell others. The stars know your secrets, but not your own family. After years of telling the stars hateful things about yourself, you think you've drawn in the hatred of small sparkles in the sky that don't even know you exist.

"And because you share these things with the stars, you continue to do so because it's habit. And so, in your mind, the hatred grows. The stars hate you, because you hate you."

They sat in silence, long after she finished. Will had studied her eyes as she had spoken, and saw no deception in them. She knew everything. Except what he told the stars.

"Where did you get that from?" Will whispered, well aware that the deception was obvious in his own eyes.

Alyss smiled, and brought an arm around to stroke Will's cheek.

"The stars told me," she whispered. Meaning that she must have noticed something. Will hesitated, staring at her. Her storm grey eyes, her straw blonde hair.

"No they didn't," he said with a grin, "the stars wouldn't betray me like that."

She smiled in response, curling into Will. They stayed like that for a while, staring at each other in the other's arms. Bluntly lying about things they already knew.

"You can't keep everything in forever," Alyss murmured. The sky reflected in her eyes, Will saw, giving them a dark blue tint, and small sparks where the stars were.

"I haven't," he responded.

"The stars aren't sufficient."

"Then who am I to tell?"

Alyss seemed to consider this, but it was obvious that she already had an answer: "Me."

He shook his head, "You said it yourself, the stars hate me because of the things I've shared. I don't want to drive you away too."

A smile spread across her face. "Will—no matter what you say, I'll never leave. I know you, I know what you have to do. And sometimes, it's not the good thing. It's not the honorable thing. Sometimes, you can only choose between two evils, and I know you would always choose the lesser. But you can't keep that between you, and something that can never reassure you that there was nothing else you could do."

Will's eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, he was completely off-guard. So that's when Alyss leaned a centimeter closer, and pressed her lips to his.


	41. Stitches and Scars

At first, Alyss didn't want to believe that whatever was staining the wood of the porch was actually blood. It looked red, dark and thick, so what else could it have been? Spilled wine, she tried to convince herself, or blood from an animal that Will was planning on cooking. Except there was so much. And it was so thick.

Stepping forward silently, the courier set her up-turned wrist on the partially opened door, not wanting to place her actual hand on the wood. The door creaked open, revealing what she had been hoping wouldn't actually be there.

A bigger pool of blood.

Taking a deep breathe, she pushed harder on the door, wanting to see the complete inside of the room before actually stepping in. Except—the door bumped something, and didn't completely open, only revealing the kitchen to her.

Sliding into the room, Alyss ignored the blood as she stepped in it. Once inside, she paused. And turned back towards the door.

What would the door have bumped into?

"Will!"

She rushed forward, seeing his collapsed body against the wall behind the door. Blood stained his shirt, pooling onto the ground next to him—what she had stepped in. Kneeling beside him, she set a hand on his left shoulder, where it was the least bloody. The moment her hand touched him, he jerked, his eyes flashing open.

He hissed in pain, drawing away from her. As he pulled away, his other shoulder came off the wall, revealing the wound.

A gash down his chest, starting at the top of his right shoulder, going down his front, and stopping above his hip bone. Long, and from what she could see, _deep and wide._

"Will," she murmured, moving closer, and reaching out to grab at his uninjured side again, "Will, what happened, let me help you."

Her voice must've registered, because he wasn't looking at her, but he stopped struggling anyway. "Alyss?" He whispered.

Alyss hesitantly put her other hand near the wound, causing her fiance to gasp and pull away. Her hand came away bloodied and dripping. "Will, honey, you have to let me help you," she said, grabbing his arm harder, and pulling him back to her.

Will, his eyes still staring blankly away, grimaced, but he didn't pull away as she gently moved him so he could lay on the hardwood floor. Seeing his throwing knife on the ground nearby, stained with blood, she snatched it up. Without a second thought, the courier wiped the blade clean on her white dress, which was already stained from kneeling in the blood. She leaned over Will, putting the knife to his collar.

He slid away upon feeling the cool steel. "What the hell are you doing?"

Pursing her lips, she moved closer once more, putting the knife to his collar again. "I have to get this shirt off of you, Will, so stay still." Not waiting to hear what he said, she lifted up the shirt, and drew the sharp dagger through it. Will's knife cut it easily, revealing the actual wound below.

None of the blood had begun to dry yet, she realized— _does that mean the person who did this is still near?_ Alyss froze, realizing that they could still be within the _cabin._

Will must've sensed her thought, and he whispered, "They won't be trouble, Aly, let's just say . . ." He hesitated, glancing towards the closed door of their bedroom, before his eyes went back to her's, clear. "Let's just say they currently have my saxe in their chest."

She stood without saying anything in response. Walking over to the kitchen, she knew a small first aid kit would be in one of the lower cabinets. After retrieving it, she turned back towards Will, kit in hand. That's when her eyes landed on her bloody footprints. Would those stain?

The moment she had seen the wound, she knew it would have to be stitched. Alyss wasn't too fond of stitching, but she did know how to do it, just in case. So after cleaning the blood off of her fiance, she looped the silk string through the eye of the needle. While she had cleaned the wound, Will had dropped his head, resting it against the floor and closing his eyes. At the first prick of the needle, his head shot up.

"Why're you stitching?" He said, panic in his voice.

"Because the wound is too wide, Will. It needs to be stitched up," Alyss replied, a finality in her voice that the Ranger couldn't even begin to argue against.

But the panic in his voice didn't go unnoticed to the courier, and her eyes quickly flicked up to his, and then back down, before she said more: "I . . . I didn't realize until now, Will, how many scars you have. How did this happen?" She motioned towards a large cut at his ribs, on the opposite side of his body. The scar with thick, one that probably needed stitches as well, and was stark white, standing out against his tanned skin.

She began stitching up the wound as Will's eyes had flicked over to where she had motioned. He flinched, but recognized what she was trying to do. "I, uh, was helping Gilan with a large bandit group in Whitby," he murmured, "and I missed one of their swords on my saxe, and it got me. Gil was there though, so . . . it wasn't that bad." He clenched his jaw, shifting his back as the needle pricked again.

Alyss motioned towards another scar, thinner, paler, near his throat. "And that one?"

Will's hand strayed towards his throat, and his eyes drifted towards the ceiling. A smile quirked his lips as he said, "Someone thought it might be a good way to get revenge on me." He paused, squinting at something on the ceiling. "I think they wanted to cut my throat. Completely missed, though."

Unable to help it, a small laugh made its way out of Alyss' mouth. "How do you miss cutting someone's throat?"

Shrugging, he winced, but the smile was still stuck on his face. It seemed he barely noticed the needle anymore.

"And this one?" Alyss set a hand, the least bloody one, on his cheek. When she pulled away, she tucked the needle in one last time, and drew the string out.

His eyes grew distant, not as if he were losing too much blood, but as if he was trying to recall something. The scar wasn't big. Just a small cut underneath his eye, similar to the ones Horace always seemed to get. "I . . . I don't remember," he murmured, a frown creasing his lips.

Tying off the string by leaning over him, she put a hand on his other shoulder—no longer caring where she brought the blood. It was everywhere now, and there wasn't much she could do about it.

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to the scar on his cheek, surprising her fiance. Sitting back up, she murmured: "You'll have to tell me all the stories you do remember. How have I not noticed them before?"


	42. Halt's Worst Nightmare

Will wasn't breathing.

His eyes were closed, there was no blood on the floor or anything. And yet, he was curled on his side, with his head in his hands. And he wasn't breathing.

Halt shook his apprentice, not sure what had happened to him.

He had walked into the small cabin, expecting to find Will finishing up breakfast, and ready to ride to meet Horace and Gilan. But instead, breakfast wasn't even made, Will wasn't dressed, and he wasn't even _conscious._

And he wasn't breathing.

Halt took a hand off Will for a second, running a hand through his thick, greying hair, deciding what he should do. It took him another second to decide. Quickly, he gently pulled Will's hands off his head, and tried to get him to lay flat. He was rigid, and his muscles seemed stuck in the fetal position, making Halt's work harder.

"Will, please," he whispered, feeling for a pulse at the boy's neck. Except he wasn't a boy. Yet he was still Halt's boy. His apprentice. His son. The pulse was there, but beating fast, as if he had run a race, and just fallen where he was.

"Will," he said again, desperation crawling into his voice. What was wrong with him? Why was he fallen on the ground? What would happen to him? Would he wake up? Halt tried once more to straighten Will's body, but couldn't move his arms or legs from their fixed position.

"Oh no," Halt whispered, "please wake up. Please be all right."

At that, Will's eyes flicked open, clear as normal. There was a smile across his face, and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, Halt. I had no idea you cared so much. And don't worry. I'm always all right."


	43. No Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fluff request, but it went a little further? It's not smut or anything, lmao, but it gets very....suggestive? rated M just to be safe.

"When are they supposed to be here?" Horace moaned, staring up at the night sky above them. His hands were behind his head, and his legs were stretched out over the small clearing. He'd thrown his sword belt to the side, apparently not caring if their mark happened upon them unarmed.

Beside him, sitting cross-legged, Will shrugged, and dug the awl deeper into the leather strap. The strap of his satchel snapped during the ride to the clearing, and he had decided to attempt to fix it while the two waited for the target. A single bandit, previously part of a larger group, was the single survivor of an ambush that Halt had planned. She, a woman named Jess, apparently was the single person that they had needed. So, Will had volunteered to set up a trap for her, and Horace had asked to go along.

"She's not supposed to be on the path until early next morning. Maybe around five-ish?" the Ranger shrugged again, and tugged the awl out, studying the shoddy work he'd done to the leather. It wasn't the best, but he'd have time later to improve it.

Frowning, Horace rolled over, and studied the side of his partner's face. "Then what're we doing here tonight? Couldn't we just come here in the morning?"

Will shook his head. "No, we have to be ready for when she comes. Even so, she could come earlier, or later, and we wouldn't know. I just heard the planned time, that's not saying anything for delays."

Groaning, Horace rolled back onto his back, staring at the stars with an uncomfortable look on his face. He didn't exactly enjoy laying on the cold, wet ground for a night, even if it was to find a bandit that his friends have been hunting for a few months. Even if it _was_ with Will, alone.

He'd prefer an actual bed, if he were with Will, alone.

After a few more minutes, Will angrily threw down the awl and the mutilated leather strap. The leather had snapped, destroying the remaining piece. Horace patted the ground beside him, a small grin forming on his face.

"We can't go to sleep, in case she comes early," Will muttered, laying down beside Horace.

"Can we at least relax?" Horace glanced at the side of Will's face again, studying a small scar that had been there since a small skirmish they both had been apart of.

"I wish," the Ranger grumbled, studying the stars.

Horace reached across Will's chest, wrapping an arm around his partner, and drawing him closer. Pressing his lips to Will's neck, he slipped his leg over Will's legs, tangling them. "You sure?"

In the dim light the stars provided, Horace watched the blood flow to Will's cheeks, even as the Ranger's hand hesitantly slipped around Horace's neck. "We can't exactly get _too_ distracted," Will whispered, tipping his chin up as Horace moved his lips against his jaw.

Putting a hand to his partner's hip, Horace moved against Will, finally bringing his lips to Will's own lips. "No promises."


	44. Normalcy

With his legs spread out, and his sweat stained shirt thrown to the side, Horace could see the way Will's ribs jutted out when he bent over, and touched his foot. Except it wasn't the basic 'bend over and touch your toes', it was moreover, bend _sideways_ and wave your hands in the air while your ribs went further than they should.

Horace's eyes went wide, even as Will stood straight, and bent over his other side to touch his other foot.

"What the hell is that look for, Horace," Halt's bored voice came from his side, and when the knight looked over to study the older man, he saw a flash of amusement in his normally expressionless eyes.

Will was too far away to hear the two of them speak, and he wasn't even paying attention. His eyes were closed, with his slightly grown out hair tied behind his head. Not to mention the fact that he'd thrown his shirt away, and his lean body was currently drenched in sweat from the run he'd just come back from.

It probably wasn't a good idea for Will to be doing this in front of Horace, especially when Halt wasn't aware of their relationship.

Swallowing hard, Horace looked away from Will, and met eyes with Halt. Which probably wasn't the best thing to do, because Halt's eyes could usually see deception at the first look. There was a suspicious look to his eyes, but nothing that showed that he _knew_.

"I-uh," Horace stuttered, forcing himself to not look at he saw Will move out of the corner of his eyes. "I've never seen Will bend like that . . . it doesn't exactly look . . ." he trailed off, unsure how to continue.

"Look . . ?" Halt repeated, raising an eyebrow as Horace swallowed once more, and nervously ran a hand through his hair.

"Healthy?" the knight tried. Instead, Halt scoffed, and looked away from Horace, practically unable to believe what the knight was saying. Horace decided to try again. "Look, that's not normal," he said, motioning towards where the Ranger was doing more stretches. "No one can bend like that."

Halt frowned, "Will's bending like that right now. I could bend like that, when I was younger." The older Ranger shrugged, and moved back to their small camp. He began gathering up their packs, preparing for them to leave. They would have to get going soon, if Will were to get in place in time for the trap.

"So that _is_ normal?" Horace asked, uncertain. He moved back to the camp, a few steps behind Halt, leaving Will alone to stretch.

"Yes, Horace," Halt sighed, "it is completely normal. I'm sure if you asked Gilan, he would do that too."

"But—" the knight started, only to be interrupted as Will called.

"Horace? Can you come here?"

Sharing one last glance with Halt, Horace dropped the bag he'd picked up. He could ask Will about it later, he assumed. After all, Will would be exhausted after today, and would want to go to bed early, giving Halt an excuse to leave early as well. They would be alone later.


	45. Sleeping Beauty

When Will heard Horace's condition, he turned to Halt, and asked for a few days off. Halt had given him an odd look, especially because they had both heard the news, and it would be an odd time to ask otherwise. The older Ranger had shrugged, and said that he could cover for him for a few days. The look in his eyes told Will that he had been a bit obvious. Halt probably might be getting the clue that they were closer than just friends.

Normally, it would take a good day straight to get to Araluen. Will got there in a just at sunset, right before they closed the gates. After identifying himself, they let him in. Before heading to the stables, the younger Ranger asked what floor the infirmary was on.

"Ah, that would be the third floor, Ranger. East wing." The soldier nodded him on, and turned back to the gate, dismissing him.

Will didn't take the time to ensure Tug was comfortable, instead entrusting his horse to one of the stableboys who was still out. He didn't feel guilty for adding a job to the kid's list either, because the boy had insisted, seeing the dirt and stains that came with riding all through a day.

He didn't bother to check in with Crowley or Duncan either, even though him leaving his fief and heading somewhere else was supposed to be okay-ed by one of them. He went directly to the infirmary, on the third floor, in the east wing. Good thing to, because both Crowley's and Duncan's offices and rooms were in the north and west wings.

When he knocked, an elderly woman answered the door, her white-grey hair pulled up in a bun behind her full face. She was of height with Will, which made him feel a bit better about his shortness. "Yes?" she asked, smiling at him.

Smiling back at her, Will said, "I'm a friend of Sir Horace's. Is he awake?"

A concerned look came over the woman's face, but she moved out of the doorway, letting him in. "Oh, you heard about the incident?"

Nodding, he stepped in, and, after a quick glance around the room, turned back to face her. "How is he?"

She shook her head, and moved past him after closing the door. "Unfortunately, he hasn't woken up since he was brought in here late last night," she walked across to a door and cracked it open, glancing inside. "He got a bad hit to the head, in addition to breaking his leg." She motioned inside, "would you like to see him?"

He nodded again, "Yes, please."

The old woman moved out of the way, opening the door wider for him to walk in. Inside, a bed stood against the far wall, and a chair sat beside it. A pitcher of water sat on the nightstand, a cup already poured for the patient.

Horace.

His leg was wrapped, with a splint keeping it stiff so he wouldn't move the broken bone in his sleep. A bandage was also wrapped around his forehead, the white cloth stained red above his left eye. His face was pale, and he had a light blanket thrown over his entire body except his leg.

"I'll leave you two alone," the woman whispered behind him, and closed the door softly. When he was sure she wasn't nearby, Will moved to the side of the bed, silent.

Looking down on him, he almost looked peaceful, if it weren't for the bandage around his head, and the splint on his leg.

Instead of sitting at the chair, Will sat on the side of the bed, at Horace's hip.

After studying his face for a few more seconds, the Ranger shook his head, a small smile crossing his lips. "Seriously, Horace. How do you always end up in these situations?"

He leaned forward, placing his lips against Horace's; giving him a kiss that he hadn't been able to give in a long while, the two of them being separated so often. It wasn't as if Horace could request to go to Redmont so often, and Will really had no business going to Araluen. But when he heard about the accident—apparently, Horace had been mounting Kicker, when another battlehorse had startled. It skipped to the side, slamming into Kicker's side, and throwing Horace to the ground. Kicker had stumbled, and fell with his master. The knight's leg had ended up pinned underneath his horse, and when he had fallen, he'd hit his head.

Slowly, Will pulled away, not wanting to leave Horace. Not wanting to be too far from him, Will remained leaned over him, his elbow resting on the other side of Horace's head. Their noses were centimeters apart, as Will stared longingly at his face.

A few seconds later, the knight stirred. Will pushed himself up, replacing his elbow with his hand.

Horace's eyes flicked open, eyes immediately landing on Will's. "Will?" he whispered.

Will's eyes widened. It was almost as if . . . as if his kiss had waken him.


	46. A Quiet Revelation

No one was ever supposed to find out about their relationship. But when Will abruptly stood from his chair, and ran from the room after Duncan and Crowley's news had hit him, Horace couldn't help but to spring from his own chair, and follow him out. He followed Will through the antechamber which held Jent, Duncan's secretary, and into the small sitting room on the other side. Another door in the antechamber would have led back out into the castle, which he thankfully hadn't even seemed to consider to take. Horace would have lost Will in the bustle and crowd of the standard halls in Castle Araluen.

He pushed through the sitting room door just as it swung shut. Will had stopped in the center of the room, his arms wrapped around his chest, hugging himself. His head was ducked down, his chin pressed against his chest.

Horace just so happened to enter when he started to sob.

His knees started to bend inwards, and Horace rushed forward to catch him before he fell. The knight's arms wrapped around the smaller Ranger, pulling him to his own chest. Will fell forward, and began to sob into his shoulder, pressing his face into the cloth of his shirt.

Gathering him up in his arms, holding him tighter, Horace knelt beside him, running his hand through his hair. He kept murmuring anything he could think of that could possibly comfort his grief-stricken partner. "It's okay, everything will be okay; we'll find them, don't worry," he whispered, rocking him back and forth. He wasn't even sure if Will heard his words. He just hoped that the sound of a comforting and familiar voice would be enough to help.

Will continued to sob into his chest.

Using the hand the had been in Will's hair, he brushed the mussed up hair from his forehead, and kissed him there. It wasn't anything romantic—no, at the moment, he just needed Will to know that he was there. Someone was there. Someone who cared for him.

Someone who loved him.

His lips were still pressed to Will's head when he heard the door open. The Ranger didn't pay any attention, still sobbing into his partner's chest, but Horace had enough sense to pull his lips from his forehead, and look around to see who was there.

Cassandra.

There were tears in her eyes, from the news they had all heard. She had probably come to see if they were okay. Her eyes landed on the two of them, and in that moment, the knight knew that she had seen. Seen his kiss. A light understanding was on her face, and when she looked up to meet Horace's surprised stare, she nodded.

She stepped out of the doorway, back into the antechamber, and closed the door quietly behind her. She hadn't said anything.

And yet, Horace knew that she wouldn't tell.

He turned back to Will, tightening his arms around his shoulders. Setting his chin atop Will's head, he stared out the window, wondering how Cassandra would take _that_ news along with the revelation of his and Will's relationship. After a while, however, he knew it didn't matter. He breathed out, and closed his eyes. In his arms, Will had gone silent, oddly still except for the hand that still gripped Horace's shirt. He'd tighten his fist, but then let the pressure go only to tighten it once more.

Horace sighed, and ran a hand through Will's hair, before kissing the top of his head.


	47. The Hibernian Complex

Stepping into the room, Halt could almost remember the multiple times he had been called in here to hear his father say one thing or another. Back then, the room had been cold, the windows always closed, and dark. Now, the windows were open, letting in the golden light of the autumn day with the wind blowing the rich maroon curtains to the side. It wasn't too cold or too warm. It almost didn't seem like the same room.

But the furniture was the same. It was too old, it ran in the family, so they would never get rid of it until that old desk fell apart, and the chairs along with it. The youngest thing in the room was the young boy who sat across the desk, a wide smile on his face.

"Uncle Halt," Sean said, standing to his feet, "You're here! I wasn't sure if you were coming!" The King of Clonmel rounded the large, red oak desk, widening his arms.

Halt smiled, glad to see his nephew after such a long time. He had changed since he had first been appointed. There was no longer a stoop to his shoulders, and his hair was cut thinner, and yet longer, held behind the band that signified his position. He seemed somewhat taller as well, but that was probably the result of a straightened back in combination with a head held high. He was confident of his position, of his rule.

At that first look, Halt could tell that his nephew was doing well as King.

"Sean," he said in greeting, and accepted the embrace of his sister's son. "How have things been?"

Instead of moving back behind the desk, Sean motioned to one of the old chairs across the desk. As Halt sat down, the young man sat in the second one. Sitting as an equal, rather than someone above him. Halt nodded to himself. _Just like Caitlyn,_ he thought, _if any of us should have been monarch of this place, it should have been her. Not mine by age, nor Ferris' by force. Her's, by skill._

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that," the monarch said, settling down. He crossed his legs, and settled into the seat.

Halt narrowed his eyes, but mimicked his nephew's motions, and settled back. "About how things have been? Have things been not going well?"

Sean smiled, and shook his head. "Actually, things have been going surprisingly great. Things are never easy, but with my experience with doing everything Uncle Ferris wanted, I was really doing no more than before. It's just a change of title." He shrugged, and looked around his room, as if he was just noticing that he was in the Royal Study, and not his previous rooms which were probably the size of a closet or pantry. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked, looking back to his uncle.

Nodding, Halt watched silently as Sean stood and crossed to the door, marveling at the fact that a _King,_ would go to the door and order coffee for a visitor. It would have been standard for a servant to come in when they saw a visitor enter, and ask. After attending to the order, the Hibernian must have noticed his uncle's stare, and sat back down with a smile.

Motioning towards the door, Halt smiled back, "Orders or are they lacking?" Referring to the apparently missing servant.

Shaking his head, Sean chuckled. "No," he said, "it's just what I'm used to. I didn't want anything to change when I was appointed, so I just told everyone to treat me like they always have. There's differences of course, in certain people, must for the most part, people have stayed the same."

Halt immediately frowned. "What about the advisors? When I saw them, they looked pretty eager to take the throne for themselves."

"Nope," the monarch said, "they always looked down on me, so I didn't say that to them. I actually had a nice . . . explicit . . . talk with them after you and your friends left."

Now Halt nodded in approval, proud of his nephew's foresight.

"But," Sean continued, "that wasn't why I asked you to stop by." He paused, considering his next words. Halt sat silently, sensing that whatever his nephew had to say, it was important to him. "I . . . know how certain rules are supposed to work, mainly with this type of monarchy," he started, still seemingly unsure, "if the O'Carrick line is to carry on with Clonmel rule, I should technically be married, and have a child."

Nodding confirmation again, Halt held a hand to say something. "Technically, yes. But things can go any way. Ferris wasn't married, and while I didn't know what he planned to do, if he planned at all, there are a few options that he might've gone with."

"I'm not Ferris, and I don't want to be," Sean stated, a small frown marring his young face. "But the point is, I _did_ eventually want to get married Halt. I just . . . " he paused, conflict apparent in his eyes.

"What is it, Sean?" Halt whispered. He knew he had barely been in this boy's life, but it seemed that a bond had still formed between the two of them. Sean didn't know who else to ask, not trusting his advisors, apparently, with this type of question.

At last, the boy sighed. "Before I was king. Before Ferris died, and before you and Horace and Will showed up, I . . . loved someone."

Sean didn't need to continue.

"And you want to know if it would be okay to marry someone well below your rank," Halt murmured. Sean nodded. "Were they below your rank before?"

"She is the daughter of one of the advisors," he revealed, a pained look coming across his face. "So somewhat. Sort of? Maybe, I don't know. I just know that now, because I'm king, she's well below me."

"But you love her," Halt stated, and waited for Sean's confirming nod. He didn't have to wait long, and saw that just at the thought of her, a look of love and bliss came over the monarch face. "And she loves you." Sean nodded once more, a small, distant smile morphing his face.

Halt shrugged. "Then it shouldn't be a problem, Sean. You're the king. Why shouldn't you marry who you love?"


	48. Life's Worth

Will didn't realize that Jenny wasn't out of the furnace until he stumbled out. First he took stock of everyone in the crowd, looking for all of the patrons that he had noticed when he had first gone in to dine with his friend. Being in between lunch and dinner, there weren't that many. Next he went onto the workers. Those were easier to count, because he actually knew them personally, from all of the times he and his wife Alyss had come to dine here. Everyone was out.

Except the owner.

"Jenny!" Will yelled, "Does anyone see Jenny!"

At first, all he got were blank looks. Then, it seemed, the name registered with one of the servers, and he shook his head. More workers started to shake their head, looking around them too see if her shorter stature was blocking her from sight.

But the chef wasn't there.

Cursing, Will quickly pulled his cloak off his shoulders, pulling the quiver along with it. Someone yelled at him to stay out of the burning eating house, but he ignored them. The first floor wasn't completely taken yet, and that was where he had last seen his wardmate. She was nowhere near stupid enough to go upstairs.

Diving back into the building, he immediately felt the heat wave of the flames—which were much further than he expected. Jenny had gone into the back when someone had yelled fire, and hadn't returned. So that's where he would try.

Will fell to his knees just inside the door, drinking in the fresher, cleaner air compared to the smoke filled air closer to the ceiling. He crawled to the bar, sliding underneath the push door that allowed the serving staff an easy entrance and exit from the swing door.

"Jenny!" He yelled, only to see her stumble out of the kitchen door just as he yelled. She fell down beside him, coughing. "Jenny?" he moved to her, gripping her arm under her smoke stained clothes.

Instead of waiting for her to respond, he pushed against the door, and started to drag her out towards the front door.

Suddenly, she started to struggle, pushing against him. "Let me go!" she gasped for breath, trying to get back to the door she had come out of. "I need to get—" she broke down coughing, collapsing against the Ranger as he continued to pull her towards the door.

"No, Jenny! Nothing is worth your _life!"_ Will snapped, finally getting to his feet to get better leverage on his friend's arm. "We have to get out of here!"

Together, they stumbled towards the door, together, Jenny finally getting to her feet. Will slung one of her arms over his shoulders, letting her lean on him.

Hands grabbed them as they got closer to the door, Will feeling a familiar strong grip around his own arm. Halt.

Outside of the burning building, after Halt had let go of Will, Jenny fell to the ground, dragging the Ranger with her. "Nononononono," she moaned, falling forward. Will, moving sluggishly from the smoke, rushed to catch his friend as she mourned the loss of an unknown object. He wrapped his arms around her, murmuring that everything would be all right, that she could rebuild, that nothing was worth her life.

Behind them, Jenny's diner burned. Lower windows finally shattered from the heat, raining pebbles of glass down on the people who were standing around, watching the fire. It was too fierce to fight, too hot. So instead of fighting it, Will settled for comforting his friend. It was all that he could do, at the moment.


	49. Trapped

Will stumbled down the hallway, Horace steps behind. Down the hall, they could hear soldiers yelling, drawing more men to them to help search for the intruders—the Ranger and the knight. Gasping, Will quickly looked around. He could feel the blood seeping through his clothes, staining the cloth and dripping to the ground.

Horace grabbed his arm, and shoved him towards a doorway. They would have to hide, they had no other choice. Snatching the door open, not even bothering to determine what kind of room it was or if it was occupied, Horace dove in first, sword bared in case someone was in fact inside.

It was a closet.

The Ranger hadn't waited for Horace to go completely in before following him in, glancing behind him to see if he had left any blood on the ground. So far, so good, the ground was clean. He closed the door, just as Horace groaned: "No . . ."

"Shhh," Will whispered, leaning heavily against the wall to the side. He wrapped an arm around his side, trying to feel how bad the injury actually was. It didn't feel too deep, but _damn_ did it hurt. "Just wait 'til they pass," he whispered to his friend, who's breath was getting faster and faster. "Then we'll double back, and get out of here."

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no oh no oh no oh noo," Horace moved around, struggling against the tight walls. Will could only feel his panic, not being able to see through the pitch darkness. His larger friend had never gotten past his old claustrophobia.

Running footsteps approached.

"Horace, _shut the hell up_ ," Will snarled, driving a knee into the back of Horace's own knees. The knight gasped, and doubled over. But he went silent.

The footsteps ran by, not even pausing at the closet door.

Horace reached for the door handle, and pulled it. But it wouldn't open. "No no no no nono, nononononononono," Horace shook the handle, panicking fully now.

"Hey, hey," letting go of his injury, Will shoved his body between Horace and the door. "It'll be fine Horace, we'll get out of here, we just have to—" Will's full weight was pushed against the door, and the door swung open on greased hinges. The Ranger stumbled back, lost his balance, and fell onto his back.

Apparently, Horace had been pulling the handle.


	50. Consequences

_"Two weeks?"_

_"Yes, Ergell, two weeks."_

_"And if something should happen?"_

_"Like what? We're in Seacliffe. The worst that has happened is a Skandian raid, and even then all that we gave up was some animals and food_ and _we had a nice banquet in the process."_

_"What about pirates other than Skandians?"_

_"Ergell, I've been here for two years, and we've never had that problem before. Seacliffe is too secluded. What's two weeks?"_

_"But if something_ should _, despite all odds, happen?"_

_"Seriously? I'm a single person, Ergell. Plus you're at least three decades older than me. Why do you need me?"_

_"You're experienced."_

_"You have got to be—fine, whatever. Just send a letter to Redmont, Ranger Halt. If he can't find me, then I don't know where the hell I would be."_

* * *

Will set a hand gently on Alyss' forehead, feeling the warmth that was far past healthy. Sighing, Will sat back, leaning his chair up against the wall, but not removing his hand.

When he had set out, it was a planned two week vacation. What he had found, however, when he arrived back to Redmont, was not planned.

Alyss had been standing, mainly to welcome him. But as she stepped forward to accept his embrace, she had stumbled. That's when he had noticed how pale her face was. When he caught her in his arms, she felt thinner than usual, warmer too. In her letters, she hadn't said anything about being sick. Pauline later told him that it came on her suddenly, just the day before he had arrived.

After he had helped her back to her seat, she quickly asked to be helped to a bed. He led her to a bed, and she passed out. She hadn't woken up since.

The young Ranger finally let his hand slip from her forehead, and instead took her hand in his.

* * *

 " _Come in!"_

_"Alyss?"_

_"Will, how have you been?"_

_"I—are you okay?"_

_"Oh, I'm—I'm fine, Will. Just a little dizzy, I think."_

_"Here, let me help. Just sit back down."_

_"Will, I—can you help me to my bed? Please, I think I just—I need to lay down."_

_"Here, lean on me. You sure you're okay?"_

_"Oh, it's nothing . . . I'm . . . I'm just tired. I just need to lie down for a bit."_

_"You don't look so good, Alyss . . ."_

_"Yes, Will. I just . . . need some sleep. I'm fine."_

_"Do you need anything?"_

_"No, thank you. But this was supposed to be our vacation, I'm sorry."_

_"This isn't your fault, Alyss, don't apologize. Just rest easy, okay? I'll be here. We'll go out tomorrow, when you've gotten some sleep."_

_"Thank . . . you."_

* * *

Will still sat studying her face when Halt walked in. He entered silently, the doors being greased. Will would have never noticed his mentor's entrance, but he saw the door swing open out of the corner of his eye.

Without saying a word, Halt looked down on Alyss, a sad look passing over his face. Then he stepped around the bed, to Will's side.

He held a letter.

Halt handed it over without a word, and Will took it without looking down at the name. He didn't want to read any letters just yet. Not with Alyss so sick.

Her chest rose and fell, slowly, shallowly. Her golden hair was fanned out against the pillow, still soft and untangled. She seemed to just be sleeping—if it wasn't for how pale she was.

Halt left without a word, closing the door quietly. He knew that Will wanted to be left alone.

* * *

_"Did you read the letter I gave you, Will?"_

_"Yes."_

_"You have to go back. You can't abandon your fief, not when they need you. Plus you've been here past your vacation. It's time you go back."_

_"Alyss . . . Alyss is still sick, Halt. No, I can't go. Not when she needs me."_

_"The two weeks are past Will. You have to go back, or you could be reprimanded."_

_"By who? Ergell?"_

_"By Crowley. He's very strict on something like that, Will. He's light-hearted and lenient on everything else, but the moment a Ranger abandon's their fief during a time of need . . ."_

_"Would he kick me from the Corps?"_

_"No, Will. Only getting banished or breaking a major rule could do that."_

_"Then I'll be staying Halt."_

* * *

He knew that he would get in trouble for not leaving. But when he walked back into the room, and saw her prone figure once more, it didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to work, otherwise, knowing the love of his life was in this condition. He had to be here, for her.

Will settled back down in his chair. He hadn't much left this room since she had been laid down. He'd gone out for food, and to use the privy, but other than that he just sat beside her. Holding her hand, stroking her hair.

He wasn't that long past his break, he knew. He had asked Crowley for two weeks, and it had passed the two week mark a few days ago. Sighing, Will crossed his legs, and settled back into the chair. A few days wouldn't hurt.

Would they?

* * *

_". . ."_

_"Will?"_

_"Alyss? Alyss! Are you okay? How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"_

_"Will, where . . . where am I?"_

_"The infirmary. One of the private rooms. Babe, how are you feeling?"_

_"I'm . . . tired. Very tired."_

_"Do you need anything? Can I do anything for you, darling?"_

_"Aha, Will, what's with you?"_

_"You've been out for so long, Aly, so long. I was so worried, I didn't know what to do."_

_"H—how long?"_

_"Just under three weeks. It's okay, Alyss, you're back, though."_

* * *

After Alyss had awoken, Will wouldn't leave her side. Not that he had left her side often, before, but this time he wouldn't leave her sight. He stayed an extra few days, until Alyss realized that he was only supposed to be with her for two weeks. And she had been out for nearly three. She was able to walk by the time he left.

He rode as fast as reasonable back to Seacliffe. Ergell wouldn't be too happy about Will supposedly ignoring a cry for help, but he wouldn't be able to do much about it. Although the Baron and Ranger were supposed to work together, and the Baron is "higher up", Will would technically be higher up than him. Will would only answer to Crowley or Duncan; a Baron would have no right to reprimand or discipline a Ranger.

The barge was on his side when he rode up, and the bargeman was able to quickly bring Will over to the other side. Will couldn't help but notice the strange side-glance the man gave him, however.

Will rode to the town, only to get the feeling it would be better to avoid the town at the moment. He didn't want to speak to anyone, didn't want to deal with the questions.

He decided to go to his cabin instead. Later, he would go patrol around, to see if there was anything for him to clean up. After setting Tug up with a bucket of grains and water in the lean-to, Will stepped up to the porch, and opened the door.

Crowley turned around, his hands crossed across his chest. He didn't look to happy, either.

* * *

_"You were out past the leave, Will."_

_"For good reason, Crowley, something came up—"_

_"I don't_ care _if something came up Will! I can understand being out a little past the date, but when you get a letter for help and you_ ignore it? _"_

_"I didn't ignore it, Crowley, I couldn't come, I—"_

_"Will, I know what happened. With Alyss. I got everything from Halt."_

_"Halt? He told you—"_

_"I was at Redmont. That's how I knew to come here. I saw you, believe me. I'm sorry about what happened to her, but she was in perfectly able hands, with Halt and Pauline watching over her!"_

_"I know, Crowley. And I'm sorry, but I couldn't just_ leave _her! I couldn't leave her, not when she needed me."_

_". . ."_

_"Crowley."_

_". . ."_

_"Crowley, say something."_

_". . ."_

_"Please?"_

_"When I arrived, I had to deal with the bandit attack."_

_"And I'm sorry about that, Crowley. This will never happen again._

_"And how do you know that, Will?"_

_"I—I don't. But I can only try."_

_"You can try."_

_"Yes."_

_". . ."_

_". . ."_

_"Ergell wanted to reprimand you. When you got back."_

_"What did you say?"_

_"I told him to mind his own damn business, and to keep his pig snout out of Ranger business."_

_"Crowley!"_

_"I never liked the Baron of Seacliffe. He's a snob."_

_"True. So, will I get punished? I'll take it, Crowley, considering I did abandon my fief in it's time of need."_

_". . .You're young. This is your first charge. Just don't let it happen again, got it?"_

_"Yes. Thank you, Crowley."_


	51. Drabble Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I requested prompts including one or two characters, as well as a short scenario on my tumblr account. Each drabble was only allowed to be 100 words exactly. Here are the 30 I answered, numbered respectively. Some of them contain different ships, which are marked.

**Drabble #1**  

He was sure that the bone hadn’t broken the skin, but despite that knowledge, he thought he could feel the bone rub against the bandage. It wasn’t the best feeling. Will didn’t voice his complaint, though, already seeing Horace’s difficulty with their food.  

The knight stared blankly at the burned meat. “I think I did this wrong."  

"Maybe you should just do stew,” Will said gently, reaching out with his good arm to touch Horace’s. “Here, I’ll direct you."  

Horace frowned, but let Will direct him around the fire with one hand, and a slight attitude from a broken arm. 

**Drabble #2 (Halt/Pauline Modern AU)**

“Dear, why is there a cup on top of the refrigerator?” 

Halt rounded the corner, and eyed his wife suspiciously before turning to look where Pauline was gesturing. “I had to get something from the cabinet up there. Why do they have to have those little things so high up?” 

Sighing, Pauline reached atop the fridge, and took the empty cup down. “But why was it up there?” 

“I was drinking something! I had to crawl on top of the counter to open the cabinet, so I put my cup in the logical place–” 

“You…had to stand on the counter?” 

**Drabble #3 (Gilan/Jenny)**

He saw her from across the room, standing beside Lady Pauline. She wasn’t as tall as her, nor as thin, but that didn’t diminish her beauty. Her golden hair shined in the light, and full cheeks wide with a dazzling smile. 

Gilan stood entranced, as even beside him, Will stood entranced with Alyss beside Jenny. 

Jenny’s eyes looked around, a sliver of nervousness sneaking into her when she saw all of the people staring at her and her companions. 

But then her eyes moved towards a face she recognized, Will, from the Ward, her friend– 

Gilan met her eyes instead. 

**Drabble #4 (Will/Alyss)**

It felt natural, the way they were entwined together at that moment. Alyss with her arm around Will’s neck, her head resting on the curve of his shoulder, a hand on his chest. Will, with an arm around her waist, and the other one playing with her hair. 

“Show me another constellation,” she whispered. 

Together, they both looked back up into the night sky. Will raised the arm that had been in her hair, and pointed to one shining star right above them. "See that star?“ 

Alyss nodded. 

"I just know its a star, I only knew that one constellation.” 

 **Drabble #5**  

“So, what do you want with me, prince?” Pritchard smiled, seeing the title make the young man in front of him squirm. But the older Ranger prided himself on being proper in the right company, and even though this man _had_ run away, and _had_ technically died, he was still technically a prince. 

“I just want to learn,” Halt said, squinting at him over their shared fire. 

“Learn what?” Pritchard rebutted immediately. What would a prince want to learn from an old, exiled Ranger? 

“I want to be a Ranger,” the Hibernian stated, “and I want you to teach me.” 

 **Drabble #6**  

“No! What the hell were you thinking, Gil? Why would you do that, it doesn’t make any sense!” Jenny snapped. 

Gilan backed away from her, baffled. “Wh-What? I’ve always done this, why would I stop? There’s nothing wrong–” 

The cook let out a cry of frustration. “No! Everything is wrong with it!” 

Snorting, Gilan put his hands on his hips, and raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend. “Seriously, Jen?” 

“Yes!” she practically shouted, snatching the ladle from his hands, and pushing him away from the pot. If she let this buffoon manage this stew any longer, he would ruin it! 

**Drabble #7 (Modern AU)**

He figured there was a message in what Will was trying to tell him, but the young lawyer never understood his friend’s puzzles. George sighed, and waved at Will through the glass, signaling that he was done with whatever he was trying to tell him. 

On the other side, Will threw his hands up in despair and frustration, and watched as his only chance of getting out of this predicament walked out of the room. 

It took Will a few minutes to see the lock-picks that George had slid underneath the door. Apparently, the only way out was to run. 

 **Drabble #8**  

“Crowley, what are you doing?” Halt narrowed his eyes, watching as the commandant climbed a shelf behind his desk. I need to start knocking, Halt thought to himself, watching as his friend made it to the top shelf. 

“Oh, I just need to find … something …” Crowley said, barely hanging onto the shelf with one hand as he shuffled through some papers with the other. 

“Something?” 

“Oh, yeah, just–” His hand slipped. The one holding onto the shelf. Crowley’s feet came next, and Halt watched with mild horror and amusement as his friend plummeted down to the ground behind his desk. 

 **Drabble #9**  

At first, Halt couldn’t believe what Ferris was doing. He knew his brother hated him for being the oldest, resented him for it. But he never thought Ferris would want the throne bad enough that he would kill his own brother for it.  

Halt felt the twack of the oar hit his head, felt his body tip over the side of the boat. And then the oar held him down. Was that still his brother, up in the boat? Or had someone taken his mind, and warped it so he only saw the possessions of his brother’s that he wanted? 

**Drabble #10 (Will/Alyss...sorta)**

“Well, missy, what can I do for ya?” Gundar leaned forward against the tiller, seeing her approach. After Horace and Cassandra’s reveal of their engagement, everyone had gone under the deck to celebrate. But he had noticed Alyss staying above the deck, had noticed Will follow after her. 

Alyss crossed her arms, and wondered what Gundar truly could do for her. "Will proposed to me,“ she said simply. “And he failed at it.” 

“Really? What’d he do? You say yes?” 

Sighing, Alyss smiled. “He asked if I wanted to do something like Cassie and Horace.” 

Gundar winced, shaking his head. 

 

**Drabble #11**

Halt had left it nearly exactly the same. 

No flowers sat on the table or the window sills, but the vases still sat there, as did all of the pots and pans of the kitchenette.  

Will was home. 

Smiling, Will dropped his things near the doorway, reveling in that one squeaky hinge that screamed louder than the others, and the creak in the floor right before he got to the fireplace. 

While Seacliffe had been nice, it had never measured up to his home fief. He smiled, looking around, and seeing the bedroom doors. No more closet-like bedroom for him. 

**Drabble #12 (Halt/Pauline, and mentions of Will/Alyss and Gilan/Jenny)**

“Hand here, Halt. Higher, you smartass,” Pauline whispered, dragging Halt’s hand to her back, rather than where it was before. 

Halt grinned sheepishly, but let her pull his hand to where it ought to be. “Do you know if Will or Gilan is practicing?” he asked, wondering what his apprentices were doing.  

Pauline frowned, thinking. “I know Gilan and Jenny have been practicing, but I’m not sure about Will and Alyss.” 

“They do know they need to dance, right?” 

“Alyss does,” Pauline assured him, “But whether she’ll tell Will or not depends on how she wants the night to go.” 

**Drabble #13**

“Okay, so hold the knife like this, prince,” Pritchard held out his hand, holding the knife by the blade and letting the hilt rest between his thumb and forefinger. 

Halt mimicked his positioning, and raised his hand to throw it. “Don’t call me prince,” he said absently. 

“Well, what else am I supposed to call you?” the old Ranger smiled, putting his hands on his hips. “Stupid? That doesn’t seem to fit.” 

“Stupid? Where did that come from?” 

“Well, considering if you threw that knife as you have it now, you’d probably lose an ear. But, y'know, just ignore me.” 

**Drabble #14 (Mentions of Will/Horace)**

Halt didn’t know what to say. He knew the boys had been closer than brothers. But that close? 

It didn’t matter anymore. Horace had broken up with Will, apparently in a rude, clumsy manner. So not only did Will have to deal with a broken relationship, but he also had to deal with the words Horace said. 

“Don’t you dare say something like that to him again,” Halt hissed, releasing Horace’s collar from his fist. “Stay away from him, or make up. I’m not asking you to get back together, but don’t make him suffer the way he is now.” 

**Drabble #15 (Mentions of Halt/Pauline)**

“What, dare I ask,” Halt started, “are you doing.” 

Gilan shot up, realizing he was caught redhanded–going through Halt’s personal documents. It had been too much to resist, and he hadn’t expected to get caught. Gilan wasn’t even supposed to be in town. 

“I-I, uh,” he wanted to explain to Halt that he hadn’t meant to do it, but of course his former mentor would see right through that. It was too obvious. So, instead, he decided to go with the truth: “You see, Halt, I had heard rumors.” 

Halt glared at him. 

Gilan continued: “About you proposing to Pauline.” 

**Drabble #16 (Jenny/Alyss)**

“Honey, do you only eat this when you’re traveling?” Jenny held up the hard bread and the beef jerky. Alyss smiled, remembering Will’s hatred of the meat. 

“Yes,” she said, taking the packet out of her girlfriend’s hands. She saw the astonished look on Jenny’s face, but didn’t comment. She knew it would only commence in an extended discussion of how eating that for an extended period couldn’t be healthy. 

Instead, surprisingly, Jenny turned her back to Alyss, and started rifling through the basket she had been carrying. When she stood back up, she held a jar of strawberry jam. 

**Drabble #17 (Will/Alyss)**

She was completely unaware of the danger she was in. Alyss smiled at the guard, and turned away, not seeing the figure standing nearby. As she walked down the corridor, the figure followed, startling the guard--but silenced with a quick hush that never made it back to Alyss. 

The shadow walked quicker than her, catching up to her rapidly. 

Snaking his arms around her waist, Will swung his fiance up into the air. Alyss yelled out, startled. She didn't realize who held her, until she was placed back onto the ground, and spun around to face Will--who had been missing. 

**Drabble #18**

“You’re Will Treaty,” the little girl stated, staring up at Will with a look of scared determination. 

“Ahh,” Will paused, looking down on her, confused. He had never seen her before, and she didn’t look like she was from around Redmont. “Yes, yes I am. Can I help you?” 

The girl shook her heard, wide eyes still fixed on Will’s confused ones. 

“Do you need something?” Will tried instead, wondering if she was in trouble. 

She started to shake her head, but then reached into her pocket, and withdrew a piece of parchment and charcoal. “Can I get your autograph?” 

**Drabble #19**

Pauline wrapped her arms around Alyss, drawing her closer. The courier didn’t want to be held though, not at that moment. Not just after the paper had burned her hands and the words her life. Because of that letter, that damn letter, nothing would be the same. 

“Alyss, it will be okay,” Pauline tried, touching Alyss’ arm when she realized she wouldn’t be able to comfort her by holding her.  

Anger flaring, Alyss spun on her former mentor, seething with fury. “Okay? _Okay??_  Yea, SURE! I’m alive, but now I have to deal with accidentally sending Will to his  _DEATH!_ ” 

**Drabble #20 (Halt/Pauline...sorta)**

"Don't you wear cologne?" Pauline said, scrunching her nose.  

Halt shrugged, inwardly cringing. Did he smell that bad? "No, not really. Could give me away in the field." 

"Well you're not in the field, darling," Pauline said, looking pointly at her husband. She knew the look she had to give him, the look that would make him do anything she told him to do. 

Sighing, Halt turned to his wife, pursing his lips. "And I'm also not my brother. How 'bout I just go take a bath?" 

"Ferris wore cologne?" Pauline asked, realizing what he meant. 

"Too much." He left. 

**Drabbles #21-23**

**Part 1**  

Horace curled inwards, holding his stomach. Coughing, he retched, and then groaned. 

Will feel to his knees beside him, honestly not sure what actions he should take. He couldn’t see any visible injury, but Horace couldn’t even hold himself up. Scrunching up his face, Will took deep breathes, trying not to panic. He had to remain calm. 

“Oh no, oh no,” he murmured, realizing he actually didn’t know what to do. 

Suddenly, Horace rolled back over, releasing his stomach and looking up to Will with a straight and worried face. “Damn, I was just trying to have fun. You okay?” 

 **Part 2**  

After his failed attempt on Will, Horace tried an easier target. 

Horace fell to his knees. grasping his gut before falling onto his stomach. Behind him, he could hear Cassandra gasp, dropping the mug she had been filling. “Horace? Horace are you okay?” she ran over to his side, setting a hand on his back. Touching her fingers to his throat, she felt for his pulse. “Hold on, I’ll get a servant to bring the doctor.” 

As she stood, Horace realized his blunder, and snatched out for her ankle. 

“Stop!” he shouted. As she looked down, he smiled. “April fools?” 

 **Bonus**  

Horace decided to try one last time. While sitting on the porch of the cabin with Halt and Will, he waited for his friend to walk inside to get more coffee, leaving him alone with Halt. 

Taking his chance, Horace suddenly gasping, and clutched at his chest as if he were having a heart attack. He ‘attempted’ to stand, but instead fell to his knees, falling forward from his chair. 

For a moment, there was silence except for Will busting around in the kitchen. And then: “Horace Altman, you are the worst actor I have ever had to suffer through.” 

**Drabble #24**

“Why … why don’t you stay? After this whole cult thing is finished?” Ferris fidgeted in his seat, looking to the door where Halt stood. Horace had already left the room, not noticing that Halt hadn’t followed. 

“Because there’s nothing left for me here,” Halt murmured, turning his back on his brother. “Sean is safe. There’s nothing.” 

Ferris stood, desperate hoping he could fix this problem. “But there’s nothing for you in Araluen either! Come home, brother.” 

Halt spun on Ferris, furious. “Nothing? I have a wife. An actual brother. A son, Ferris. I have a family, one that actually loves me.” 

**Drabble #25**

“Wait, wait, _what_?” Halt leaned forward, unable to believe Crowley’s words. “You want _Gilan_ to be the next commandant?” 

“Yes,” Crowley confirmed, nodding. “He’s skilled, he’s smart, knows what he’s about, and he’s responsible.” 

“Responsible? We are both talking about Gilan, right?” 

“Yes, Gilan. He’s very responsible, does his job without hitch–” 

“Crowley, this is Gilan we are talking about. He’s the least responsible person out there!” 

Crowley laughed. “He’s more responsible than you, Halt. Seriously, I think he’s the perfect replacement for me.” 

Sighing, Halt leaned forward. “What about Will? Skinner? Gerald? Someone else?” 

Grinning, Crowley shook his head. 

**Drabble #26 (Will/Alyss + baby)**

"M-m," the baby mumbled, her fingers curling around her mother's finger. Alyss smiled, looking down on her child. 

"Say it darling, say mama," she whispered, caressing her child. 

Will watched from beside her, looking down lovingly to his daughter. He reached forward, stroking her head as he set his other hand on Alyss' thigh. 

"M-m." 

"Go on, sweetie, you can do it," Alyss murmured. 

"Dada." 

Will snorted, roughly getting up from his seat on the bench. "I-I think I need to get working, Aly. See you for dinner?" 

Alyss said nothing, her face still. She would get him back. Later. 

**Drabble #27**

Horace watched as Will drew the arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and drew back the string. As far as he could tell, he had been doing nothing wrong when he had picked up the old hunting bow. The fact that it might be operator error never occurred to him, but it still annoyed him, seeing Will draw that 80-pound longbow like it was nothing. 

It couldn't be that hard. Could it? 

"Hey, Horace," Gilan said, coming up silently behind him. "How've you been?" 

Frustrated, Horace shrugged off Gilan's hand, and got up. Gilan eyed him oddly as he left.  

**Drabble #28 (Will/Horace)**

This time, _this time_ , Horace would get him. Every time that he tried, Will ducked out of the way, put his hands on his mouth, and turned away, or would literally turn and threaten to break up with him. 

“Will,” Horace said, trying to catch his attention. They were waiting for Gilan to return for the patrol, and Horace intended to take advantage of every second. 

When Will turned, Horace leaned forward, intending to get a good smooch in.   

“Hey guys come look at this!” Gilan yelled, running down the path towards them. Will’s head whipped around, smacking into Horace’s. 

**Drabble #29**

“Can you explain this for me again, please, Pauline. I don’t think I understand,” Gilan stared down at the paper, scrunching his face in confusion. Across the room, he could feel Alyss’ stare. She knew what he was going to do. 

“What don’t you get, Gilan? You’ve done things like this before,” Pauline stood up from where she sat beside Alyss, walking over to the table where Gil sat. 

“Well … I think I forgot.” 

“What’d you forget? You couldn’t have forgotten all of it.” Pauline crossed her arms. 

“I … forgot.” Gilan winced, knowing that was a poor explanation.  

Alyss snorted. 

**Drabble #30 (mentions of Will/Alyss)**

Will stepped as quietly as he could, but the floor still creaked. Wincing, the young apprentice stole a glance to Halt’s bedroom, hoping that he hadn’t heard. When no movement was heard, Will continued. 

“Just where do you think you’re going,” Halt said from beside the door, in front of where Will stood.  

Flinching, Will stumbled back, horrified that he had been caught sneaking out. Will’s mouth opened once or twice, before he managed: “I couldn’t sleep … I was hoping to go on a walk, sorry for waking you.” 

Halt nodded, letting him pass. “Say hello to Alyss for me.” 


	52. Hands Off

_He didn't notice at first when the brazier fell._

_Will drew an arrow from the side quiver he had equipped, another one of Crowley's genius uniform changes._ Why do I always have to be the guinea pig, _Will had thought to himself,_ and why do I always have to get caught in life-threatening situations when Crowley gets his strokes of genius? _Drawing the bow back, the young Ranger sighted on the opposing archer, and marked his amateurism. The boy didn't know how to hold the bow correctly, and was clutching the string between thumb and forefinger._

 _The boy didn't know what he was doing, or who he was up against. He had just been told '_ shoot at that man' _and did as he was told. Will moved the aim down, considering taking aim at the boy's legs—but Will couldn't bring himself to fire. It would still greatly injure the kid, as would any shot Will could make._

 _Waiting once more instead of firing, the boy whipped sweat from his dark brow, and snatched up another arrow, damaging the fletching as he did so._ That arrow won't fly right, even if he aimed perfectly for my chest, _Will knew. But he was behind a tree, and crouching underneath a bush while pressed against the far wall of the keep. The kid drew back as Will expected, and took a sloppy aim at the bust. He released, snatching at the string as he did so._

_With all of the inaccuracies that the boy piled up, Will knew it wouldn't hit him. And it never did. It flew far above his head, striking sparks against the searing metal of the brazier above Will's head._

_The brazier itself didn't alarm Will, so he didn't look up. It wasn't as if a single, misaimed arrow could damage a professionals welding enough to make it fall. So he didn't care how far off the arrow was, he didn't care that it had accidently hit a piece of poorly welded metal, and knocked off the brazier from its already precarious setting._

_After the last arrow, the boy turned tail and ran, throwing the bow to the ground. Will narrowed his eyes, watching the boy sprint out the gate, and disappear from sight._ What the hell?

_Then he heard the chink. Not being able to place it, Will glanced around him, not seeing anything._

_And then he remembered to look up._

* * *

It had been two days since the accident. He had tried to keep his hands and the part of his arm covered, but situations arose where he needed his fingers free. He didn't even have to move for his limbs to burn with pain, reliving when the brazier fell down from above, and slammed into Will. He had looked up just in time to see it, and rose his hands to block the might of the blow.

The brazier wasn't heavy. Just _hot._

His hands burned where they had connected with a metal, and where it had banged against his forearms as well.

It had been two days since the accident. And he was just getting to a proper healer now.

Will walked into the courtyard of Castle Redmont, his hands conveniently and painfully shoved into his pockets. Making his way across, he hoped to avoid those he knew, and those in his family. But that wasn't exactly easy when his boyfriend had decided to make a surprise visit while he was away.

"Will!" Horace yelled across the courtyards from the stables. His smile was wide, happy to see his partner after being given the news that he wasn't supposed to be in Redmont all week.

Knowing Horace would make a fuss of his injuries, Will kept his hands shoved into his pockets. "Horace," he said, straining to force a natural smile. The fabric of his shirt rubbed up against his arms, irritating the burns even through the bandages.

Without saying more, Horace wrapped his arms around Will the moment he got close enough—and before Will could protest. Sweeping him into a bear hug, the knight started to say what had happened, why he was there and asking why Will hadn't been there when Horace had known his schedule to be clear.

"Horace," Will choked out, the pain suffocating him. When Horace didn't register his voice, Will roughly wrenched himself out of Horace's grasp, forcing himself not to gasp at the pain or crumple to the floor.

Stumbling back, Willl held himself, gripping each of his elbows to create pain in his hands, and to take his mind away from the pain in his arms.

"Is everything okay?" Horace asked, surprised at the greeting he had gotten. Normally, Will would accept the bear hug against his chagrin, but he would still suffer through it. This was the first time Will had forcibly take himself out of Horace's arms.

"No," Will snapped, the pain eating away at his patience. "No, it's not okay, Horace."

Taken aback, Horace flinched at the severity in his boyfriend's voice. And then that annoying voice in the back of his head spoke up: _He hates you._

"Oh," the knight murmured, taking what the voice said for granted. "C—can I help? Is this something I can help with?"

Will breathed out through his mouth, trying to stifle the pain. It wasn't even occurring to him how hurtful his words could be. "Yes, actually. Leave me alone. For a good long while."

At that, Will turned his back to Horace, and walked away, saying nothing more. He had to get to the damn healer, before the pain got so bad he fainted.

* * *

Horace sullenly packed up Kicker's saddlebags, disappointed with his trip. He had been expecting Will to be surprised and happy to see him, but instead for the first few days he wasn't even here, and when he finally did get back . . . he dumped Horace.

Wincing at the sound of that, Horace decided that he would skip the plans to eat breakfast at Jenny's, and leave right away. Would he ever be able to return home to Redmont again, without thinking of Will? And what they had had?

Sighing, Horace finished up, and looked around him, seeing if he had forgotten anything. Instead, his eyes landed on the silhouette in the doorway to the stables.

Ranger cloak off and thrown over his shoulder, Will still looked miserable from the day he had returned. He was wearing a loose shirt, which was uncommon for him, because the cloth could get caught by a stray arrow or blade. And then Horace's eyes landed on his hands—covered and wrapped in soft cloth, some stained with a kind of ointment. The sleeve was hitched up on one of Will's arms, revealing that the bandages traveled all the way up to his elbows.

"Will," Horace said in greeting, determining that he wouldn't be rude to his ex-boyfriend.

"Horace," Will said, pausing. "Is everything alright between us?" he asked, unsure.

Frowning, the knight took his foot off of where it had landed on the stirrup. "Alright? I thought things were before I got here, but apparently not."

"What?" Will questioned, seemingly seriously confused.

"You broke up with me," Horace said bluntly, turning away. "I figured something had to have happened. So, no, things are not 'alright'."

Silence stretched between them, Will's eyes slowly getting narrower and narrower. "When did I do that?"


	53. Archery Lessons

It wasn't that he couldn't _do_ it that annoyed him—it was that he _knew_ that he was strong enough to do it. Or at least, he should have been. He was stronger than Will, he had pinned Will plenty of times—while practice sparing, while teaching him certain hand-to-hand combat moves, while in bed—tons of times! So it didn't make much sense for Will to be able to draw a piece of wood with a string back completely, and Horace not even be able to manage a half-draw.

"Horace," Will snickered, "try the recurve first. I didn't start with a longbow, let alone that one. Recurve is easier."

"But why can't I draw it?" Horace whined, frustrated.

"Because that's a ninety-pound longbow," Gilan yelled from across the lawn. "That's ten pounds more than the average war-bow, because Will likes to show off. You wouldn't be able to draw that unless you trained for a decade, Horace."

"What did you start with?" Horace squinted at Will, suddenly suspicious that he had been planning this.

"Twenty," Will said, delicately reaching across Horace to grab his bow. "But twenty on a recurve is a lot different from twenty on a longbow. I was knocked back down to twenty when I switched from a fifty-pound recurve to a longbow."

Alone as they were, Gilan going back into the cabin with Halt and Crowley, Horace grabbed Will's belt as he started to back away. Will looked as if he were expecting this, as he put himself against Horace's body without hesitation, looking up with an amused smirk on his face. "Are you planning something," Horace murmured, his face millimeters from Will's. "Because I will get you back later if I have to."

"Really? That's what I was hoping for." Will smiled, and pulled away, just as Gilan walked back out of the house, Halt and Crowley trailing after him. All three held mugs of steaming coffee. "But that'll have to wait."

Horace snatched the bow out of Will's hand, ignoring his boyfriend's sudden protests. Pulling the string back once more, Horace struggled to pull it back past his elbow. His shoulder muscles strained, not used to supporting this type of weight. Scrunching up his face, he pictured Will, Gilan, Halt, Crowley, all of the Rangers, drawing back their bows as easily as if there was nothing holding them back. He had watched Will draw back this very bow, just playing around, checking the aim. And Horace couldn't even pull it back far enough.

"You're holding it wrong," Will said from behind him, "three fingers, forefinger above, middle and ring finger below the nock."

He was holding it between thumb and forefinger, the small bead, that Will called the nock, digging into his knuckles. He didn't have an arrow on the string—that would have been too dangerous.

Grudgingly, Horace tried to readjust his hold while keeping it drawn.

Will hissed. "No, no, release, then readjust. Don't damage my bow."

Confused, Horace released the empty string. Suddenly, they heard a _crack,_ something whipped against Horace's forearm, leaving a stinging welt. Surprised, the knight dropped the bow, a hand going to cover the welt.

"Meaning while you still held it, smartass," Will snapped, gingerly taking the bow from the ground in front of Horace. The bow had a large crack going down the top arm, bending so the string could slip out of the niche at any moment. The string, from what Will could tell, has also snapped, which was what cracked against Horace's skin. There was absolutely no pressure on the arms of the bow. Will's eyes were wide with horror, and his mouth slowly dropped open.

"That thing isn't cracked, is it?" Halt yelled from where he sat, watching them. "I ain't making a new one because your dear boyfriend broke it."


	54. A Hopeless Situation

Cheeks burning, leg jumping, Gilan stared across the table at Will.

Will, looking down on the letter he was writing, didn't notice Gilan's fervent stare. He chewed absently on the end of the quill he was using, and when he wasn't doing that the tip of his tongue could be seen peeking out between his red lips. It was cold out, and he had just come back from Castle Redmont, where he had picked up the mail and collected Alyss and Jenny, who sat in front of the fire talking.

"Who's that for?" Gilan asked, hoping to start a conversation. The moment Halt walked in the door, Gilan wouldn't have a chance, considering he wasn't supposed to be here any longer. Jenny had invited him to stay for dinner, however, and Will had invited him to stay at the cabin overnight.

Gilan didn't know if that meant the _same_ bed, or in the guest room.

Their relationship was confusing, at the moment. Will responded to any attempts at flirtation, and physical touches, but nothing had actually been spoken about. And, making things worse, Will seemed to be avoiding any attempts at communication.

"Crowley wants me to look into a kidnapping out in Seacliff. Clarke is sick, and he figured that I could look into it because of my experience there," Will answered, not looking up from the letter.

"When are you leaving?"

Will sighed, "He wants me to leave as soon as possible, so I guess tomorrow. Apparently a lot of kids are being taken, so he thinking a slave ring."

"Oh," Gilan said, not knowing what else he could say. "Do . . . maybe we could ride together. I'm going in the same direction."

"Yea," Will murmured absently, still staring at the letter.

Gilan fell silent, his eyes still locked on Will. It wasn't often that he felt uncertain, but right now was one of the few times. Unsure, he looked to his side, to see Jenny looking back at him. Realizing her partner was looking away, Alyss turned to look at Gilan as well. Both women smiled reassuringly. The chef nodded, and gave him a thumbs up. She was the whole reason he was here—he had told her how he felt about Will. They may have been exes, but they broke up on good terms, and Gilan wasn't ashamed to say that Jenny was probably one of his closest friends.

Taking a deep breath, Gil turned back to Will.

"Will?" he asked, trying to keep the waver from his voice.

"Hmm?"

"Do . . . do . . . do you want to . . . maybe, like . . ." Gilan fell silent, realizing how he sounded.

Will looked up from the letter, raising an eyebrow at Gil. "Do I want to . . . what?" he asked. Abruptly, he turned his head, narrowing his eyes in Alyss and Jenny's direction. Jenny was barely able to keep a giggle in, smothering herself with her hands.

"Have dinner? Sometime?" Gilan practically had to spit it out, knowing that it would never come out of him willingly. He hadn't expected being so nervous for this, but when the moment finally came . . . his heart was in his throat.

"We're having dinner right now . . . so sure." Will smiled, casting another glance in the girl's direction.

Gilan didn't get the message.

"Oh, well," he said, a bit flustered, "that's . . . that's not exactly what I meant . . ."

"Oh, then what _do_ you mean?" Will asked, looking up and directly into Gilan's eyes. It looked as if he was trying to tell Gilan something, but he just couldn't figure out what Will's wide eyes and raised eyebrow and glances toward the bedroom doors meant.

"Well—" Gilan was cut off as footsteps sounded coming up the steps of the cabin. Seconds later, Halt opened the door, and his chance was gone.

* * *

 

Alyss and Jenny walked back to Castle Redmont hand-in-hand. Halt was staying a little later, so they walked without the grizzled Ranger.

"Could Gilan have gotten any more oblivious?" Jenny laughed, thinking back.

Alyss smiled, shaking her head. "Will was literally looking between Gilan and the bedroom door. I don't think it could have gotten any more obvious than that."

"Usually he's fairly observant," Jenny pointed out.

"I think he was just getting some butterflies in his stomach." Alyss looked up into the forest canopy, listening to the night's natural sound. "Will actually told me before we left that he's never seen Gilan like that before."

"If you think about it," Jenny said, smiling, "he is a sort of a hopeless romantic at times."

"So what do you think is going to happen between them?" Alyss said, looking down with a knowing smile on her face. She already knew, she just wanted to hear it confirmed.

Jenny shook her head. "Oh, you know Will is going to have to initiate _all_ of it from now on."


	55. Prank Outtings

" _HOLD ON, WILL!"_ Gilan shouted, thrashing against the restraints the bandits had secured him with. They had used the Ranger thumb cuffs, probably taking them from his satchel that they had confiscated from him. Forcing his arms backwards around a tree, they tied them tightly, cutting off bloodflow.

Will wasn't so lucky.

They decided to have fun with him, forcing him back to the lip of the crumbling cliff. Early on, they had taken and shattered both of their bows, leaving Will with only his knives. Gilan was forced to watch as a group of them got closer and closer to him, pushing him nearer the edge. Rocks crumbled beneath the younger Ranger's feet, falling down into whatever chasm Will stood above.

Gil kicked out, hoping to injure one of the bandits that watched along with him, but they were too far away, paying no attention to him. He jerked some more, pulling harder and harder until his thumbs felt as if they dislocated. "Let me go, you bastards," Gilan snarled at the bandits. "Show me your damn face if you're not afraid of any retribution for this."

The bandit in the lead for Will burst out laughing, before quickly smothering it behind the handkerchief they all had tied around their faces. Not only that, but all were wearing hoods as well, leaving all of their identities a mystery.

Hefting a battleax, the man in the lead took a step forward, quickly closing in the gap between him and Will. Realizing that he had claimed the Ranger as his prey, the others fell back, lowering their weapons to watch what their compatriot did.

Will seemed to pause, with a flash of recognition in his eyes. But from where Gilan was tied, it didn't seem as if he recognized the attacker but something else. Straightening, Will looked over the heads of the bandits, able to do so because of the raised position of the cliff. He looked directly to Gilan, their eyes connecting for a frozen moment.

Gilan realized what he was going to do, seconds before Will did it.

Bow broken. Surrounded. Back to a cliff. Confronted by a battleaxe. Two knives.

"WILL, _NO_!" Gilan screamed. But for some reason, his body was frozen still, and he didn't fight his bonds any longer.

Not as Will stretched his arms out to either side, a blade held in each hand. He looked back to the axman, staring at him defiantly.

He fell backwards, letting his feet slip off the ground, going into a freefall.

Off the cliff.

To Gilan, the world froze.

The people who had been attacking Will broke out into fits of laughter, falling against each other as the axman angrily swung his weapon into the ground. The few bandits around Gilan tutted, as if disappointed. Gil sat there, staring at the spot where he had last seen his friend.

"Oh, _come on_ , Gilan," a voice said from behind, "Will is not _that_ good of an actor."

Halt stepped out from the shadows behind him, dropping the handkerchief that had been covering his face. One by one, other bandits dropped the hoods and handkerchiefs, revealing familiar faces beneath all of them. The axman dropped his, revealing Rodney still trying to catch his breath from how hard he had been laughing, clutching his gut. Beside him, one of the men that had held a large broadsword dropped their face-coverings as well, revealing the Baron of Redmont, Arald.

Alyss appeared beside him, as well as Jenny standing beside her, and a few villagers from Wensley.

"But . . ." Gilan trailed off as someone started undoing his bonds, "but . . . Will," he tried to say, pointing forwards to the cliff.

"That's just a small gully," Alyss said, loosening her hair from a tie.

Will's head popped up where he had fallen down, a wide, mischievous grin spread across it. Someone apparently vaulted him up there, because he scrabbled up the side, and bent down to help the person up.

Horace.

"I'm . . ." Gilan once again trailed off, but upon seeing Will alive and okay, it began to sink into him that it was a prank. He stood up, rubbing his thumbs.

"Confused?" Halt said, shaking his head. "Those two told me about the lesson you gave them so long ago, and they thought it would be fun to get back at you."

"But . . ." Realizing what had happened, Gil took a moment, looking at his feet to help piece things together. Will was alive. It was a prank. Practically the entire Redmont fief was in on it.

Suddenly, he felt just a _little_ angry.

"But he fell off a damn cliff!" Gilan snapped, gesturing to the approaching boys. Horace had an arm around Will's shoulders, laughing at something he said while they made their way through the crowd of people. Rodney and Arald stopped them, as well as a few others, before they even made it away from the cliff.

"It was a gully," Will repeated as they approached, "like a trust fall."

Gilan paused. "Right," he said, brushing his hands on his pants, "sure. A trust fall. With your boyfriend, right?" Gilan said, smiling smugly.

Will's eyes widened. Horace's eyes widened.

"I _knew_ it," Jenny cried out, snatching onto Alyss' arm and shaking it. " _I knew it!"_


	56. Matchmaker Tug

"Well, yeah," Will called back to Horace as he marched down the front steps of his cabin, "that's what I thought too, until the little bastard showed up _again—_ "

Horace scoffed behind him, his loud footsteps only a few meters behind the Ranger's. "Again?"

" _Again_ ," Will laughed, his hand reaching out and grasping the front railing, using it to swing him around towards the lean-to where Tug and Kicker rested. "I honestly couldn't believe it," he continued, "but there he was, and that's probably the main reason he got the punch in." Will gestured towards the deep purple bruise on his cheek, grinning as if it were nothing. "I had thought he was dead _three_ times in a row, and I thought I was done with the guy. Apparently not!"

Snorting, Horace jogged a few meters to catch up with Will, and they walked side by side to the other side of the cabin.

Tug snorted when the two of them came around the edge, while Kicker kept munching away at the oats Horace had put in front of him a half hour ago. There was an uncharacteristic gleam to Tug's eyes as they rolled around to look at Will. The young Ranger frowned, seeing Tug's odd look.

"Everything alright?" Horace asked, slapping a hand on Will's shoulder as he came up behind him to see into the lean-to.

Upon seeing Horace, the little horse backed out of his stall, causing the pair to back away from him so they wouldn't be run over by his behind. Will shook his head, not bothering to watch what Tug was doing. Lately, whenever Horace was around, the horse would act weird. He would bump Will in the back in the direction of Horace, or step on his foot whenever the knight passed nearby. There was one point where Will had had to tell the horse to knock it off, and instead the horse nipped him in the shoulder _while_ pushing him in Horace's direction.

Will had a feeling he knew what Tug was trying to do. And every time he thought about it, the more embarrassed he became. Was it obvious? Could others tell? Could _Halt_ tell? Did _Horace_ know?

Instead of watching Tug try and fool with them again, Will turned to face Horace, intending to tell him what his horse had been up to. Of course, he would filter out the reasoning Tug had, but overall it would get Horace to laugh. And the thought of Horace laughing . . .

Opening his mouth to start saying something, Will was cut off as he felt a rough push on his back, sending him sprawling towards Horace.

He should have expected this, he thought, even as he stumbled into the knight's chest.

Horace instinctually held his hands out to catch Will, his chuckle at seeing Tug's apparent excitement cut off just he watched Tug slam into Will. "What the hell, horse?" he gasped out, stumbling under Will's weight.

To avoid falling over, Will had grabbed onto whatever he could. Meaning Horace's shirt. As soon as he registered that he hadn't fell, his brain _did_ register that Tug had finally successfully pushed him against the knight, with exactly _no space at all_ between their bodies. Feeling the head rise in his cheeks, Will slowly looked up, wondering how Horace would be reacting to their closeness.

All Horace could register was that his arms had gone around Will's waist as if he'd done it a thousand times, and Will had grabbed his shirt as if his life depended on it. One arm was around the small Ranger's waist while the other held his elbow. He watched as Will's cheeks reddened, and slowly looked up to meet his eyes.

The knight's cheeks slowly reddened as well, darkening well past the shade of Will's cheeks.

But they didn't let go of each other. Neither moved.

Behind them, Tug snorted and shook his main, and there was a distinct look of approval in his eyes.

"Ahh," Horace tried to start, but couldn't get much more out.

Will gulped, and slowly stood up straight—but instead of removing his hand, he just released his fist, but kept it on his shoulder. He didn't shake out of Horace's arms, but instead continued to stare into the knight's eyes.

And then, unanimously, they kissed, Will's hand sliding behind Horace's neck, and Horace's arms tightening their grip around Will. Both forgot of the bruise that would have certainly made them pause beforehand, and instead fell into the other, finally letting their feelings be sensed.

Tug stamped his hoof on the ground, and snorted once more, and looked over to where Kicker continued to eat his oats. The large battlehorse looked up for a moment, saw the knight and the Ranger kissing and shook his mane. He approved. And then he continued eating.

Will hooked his other arm behind Horace's neck, letting him support him by grasping his thigh and holding him up. Horace leaned against the side of the cabin, drawing Will closer and closer, and kissing deeper and deeper.


	57. Shirts

Frowning down at his half-empty drawer, Will bit his lip in his confusion. He knew he had more shirts than what he saw, but there was no explanation as to where the others had went. Running a hand through his hair, the young Ranger looked up from the wardrobe, scanning the room. He hadn't done laundry recently, and the shirt he had worn last night was the last clean one he had for bed.

"Hey, honey?" Will called, looking towards the half-opened door.

"Hmm?"

"Have you seen any of my bedshirts laying around? Clean ones?" He didn't think it would be possible for him to have accidentally deigned one or five dirty and thrown it in the laundry pile, and that was really the only explanation as to where all of them went. Unless someone was taking them, but why would someone want to steal his bedshirts?

"Your bedshirts?" Alyss called back, her voice echoing her confusion. "All of your clean ones are in the drawer, like usual."

 _Apparently not,_ Will pursed his lips, and rested his hands on his hips. After considering the drawer once more, Will walked out into the main room of the cabin, still wearing his day clothes. Maybe he left them in the basket that they take down to the river. He'd only done that in his apprentice days, and never since, but it had been a hectic day the last time they did laundry. It could very well be possible he forgot them out there.

On his way out, he barely spared Alyss a glance. She had changed earlier, and was cutting apples into wedges in the kitchen. She wore a baggy shirt over some loose cut old trousers made out of shirt material. Her blond hair was spun up on top of her head, random strands falling in her face.

Exiting the cabin, Will looked over the railing and down to little alcove that he kept the basket in. Empty.

And then it hit him.

Alyss didn't have any baggy shirts in the greenish color she had been wearing.

But Will did.

Inching back inside, the Ranger glanced around the edge of the open door, to where his wife continued cutting apples. There was no doubt now-that was his shirt she was wearing. He could see places he remembered mending on it, including where the sleeve had ripped when he caught it on a nail while repairing Tug's lean-to.

It was a few heartbeats before Alyss realized Will was watching her.

"Everything all right, Will?" a smile played across her lips as his eyes narrowed.

At first, he _was_ going to ask her why she was wearing his shirt. And he _was_ going to ask her if she had taken his other shirts. But something about the way her hair fell from it's placement, and how his shirt fell over her body, and maybe the way she was looking at him over her shoulder; those things made him pause. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, and he let his face soften from it's suspicion into something more . . . more playful.

"Yea," he murmured, drinking her in. He found himself wanting to wrap his arms around her waist, and draw her into his chest, but forced himself to stay where he was. Although she wasn't dressed elegantly like she normally was, she was just as beautiful--no, _more_ beautiful, when she was dressed like this. It made him _want_ her.

And slowly, he understood.

 _Damn, she's definitely subtle._ Finally, Will let his smirk widen into a full-on endearing smile that told Alyss that her plan had been successful. He had that look in his eyes, the one that told her everything she needed to know about his love for her.


	58. One Night Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank u my friend Nightshade002 for being there 4 me lmAO

_Alyss -_

_Going out for one night stand, be back in a few._

_\- Will_

* * *

"It could mean quite a few different things, Jen—" Alyss protested, trying to reach over Jenny's shoulder. Instead, Gilan took the letter from Jenny, and walked away from Alyss, heading pointedly for the fire.

"I don't know . . ." Gilan trailed off, pulling at the scruff on his chin in mock concentration. "But Will _has_ been going out a lot recently, right Jen?"

The chef nodded vigorously. "Yea, and he met with some red-haired women at John's Tavern over on Main street."

Alyss shook her head, not believing what she was hearing. She looked at Gilan, "So you think that just because Will has been going out recently," she turned to Jenny, "and because you saw him talking to a woman who isn't me, you thing he's _cheating_ on me?"

Gilan shrugged, and folded up the paper in his hands. "Well, 'one night stand' usually means that it only happened once. Could be possible that it's something else, but . . ." Gilan paused again, staring at the fire on the other side of the room.

" . . . But—what?" Alyss finished, her patience getting short. "I'm seriously waiting for either of you to come up with a solid argument that would prove that Will is cheating on me."

On either side of her, Jenny and Gilan looked at each other, a short, silent argument going on between their warring eyes. Jenny was the first to speak. "I just think you should be aware of the possibility, sweetie. No one is perfect."

Before Alyss could respond, Gilan jumped in, a mischievous grin on his face. "Not even me?"

Jenny pursed her lips, seemingly considering her answer even as her lips curled in amusement.

"If you two are going to flirt, do it outside. Or we could continue this conversation." Alyss snatched the paper out of Gilan's hands, and unfolded it. Studying the writing, Alyss turned away from her friends.

"You know," Gilan started, snickering, "that dot like thing could be a period or comma or another mark. And 'stand be' could have been the town-wide infamous misspelling of Standbe Street. So does he mean 'going out for one night; Standbe. Back in a few'? Or what? Is he cheating? Did he misspell other words? How _old_ is this letter?" Gilan continued naming off other possibilities, no matter how unlikely. Alyss looked out the window as Jenny started giggling at another of Gilan's innuendos.

As she tuned the two of them out, she watched the trees sway in the fall wind. It was nearly silent that day, especially how far out in the woods they were in the Ranger's cabin.

Will passed by the window, sitting easily on Tug's back without the saddle. Alyss hadn't noticed that he'd left bareback. He normally only did that if he were in a rush.

"Why don't you just ask him?" Alyss said, turning back to Gilan and Jenny. "He'll be coming in soon." Just as she said that, Gilan's horse, Blaze, nickered in the back, drawing Gilan's attention away from the front.

Footsteps sounded on the front porch, causing all three occupants to turn. Without a knock, the door opened, revealing Will. He wore his normal Ranger clothes, without the cloak. His hair was messy from the wind, and, just like Gilan, there was a light scruff on his face. Seeing his two friends there along with Alyss, Will smiled, his face glowing.

Of course, Gilan ruined it: "Who were you having a one night stand with, Will?" he asked bluntly, taking the note out of Alyss's hands.

Pausing in the doorway, Will's smile fell slightly, confusion furrowing his eyebrows. "What?" he asked, just as Alyss hissed, "Seriously?"

Gilan stepped forward to wave the letter in Will's face. "One night stand?"

Leaning back, Will tipped his head to the side, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You mean in my letter? 'Going out for one night stand'?" Will looked over to Alyss. "Is that what he's getting at?"

Alyss crossed her arms, and nodded.

Will stood silent for a moment, his eyes going from Gilan to Alyss, to Jenny who had sat down at the table. "You're serious?"

At Gilan's nod, Will snorted. The taller Ranger paused, and raised an eyebrow as Will's snort fell to a grunt, his mouth twisting oddly. Finally, Will broke down, his laughter bursting out and echoing louder into guffaws of utter disbelief. Gilan looked over to Alyss, utterly confused. The courier smiled and shrugged, and walked into the kitchen to make some coffee.

"I—" Will choked out, holding his stomach, "I was—" he broke down laughing again, this time falling completely to his knees. "Damn Gilan!" he exclaimed, falling on to his bottom. "I was _buying_ a damn _night stand_. One of them!" Will cackled, and rolled onto his back, laying half in the cabin and half on the porch. "Hence _'one night stand'_!"

Behind him, Jenny scoffed, covering her grinning mouth, even as Alyss broke down in a fit of giggles in the kitchen, spilling a small amount of coffee grounds.

"But—but what about the woman you met at John's Tavern?" Gilan stammered.

Will, halfway up into a sitting position, fell back over. "That was the damn contractor!" he wheezed out, still holding his stomach.

"I did tell you, Gil," Alyss murmured, bending down to start sweeping up her mess. "What were you even expecting?"


	59. Uncertain Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just short drabbles (1/2) I posted on tumblr. Don't know if I'll continue writing though.

"If you weren't accepted into battleschool, where would you have gone?" Will murmured, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom.

At the end of the bed, Horace sat bare-chested, mending his shirt where it had snagged on a thorn. The knight glanced over to his friend, a frown forming. "Why?"

From his position of laying with his arm spread out across the bed, Will awkwardly shrugged, his shoulders touching his ears. His eyes didn't waver from the ceiling. "Just curious."

Horace set his shirt down on his lap, considering the question. Thinking back to the Choosing Day, Horace recalled Will's embarrassment at not being accepted into his first or second choice. Horace had gotten his first, and frankly, only, choice. He hadn't had a second choice.

"I don't know.." Horace said, looking down at his lap. He could feel Will's eyes on him, and couldn't bring himself to look up. "I probably would have just gone to the fields. I didn't have any interest in being anything else, and I don't know what else I would have done. I only had my eyes on battleschool, even if I didn't make it to knighthood."

"You would have taken the fields instead of being apprenticed in the stables?" the Ranger asked, incredulous. Finally, Horace looked up, and their eyes met.

Horace shrugged. "Probably."


	60. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just short drabbles (2/2) that I posted to tumblr. Don't know if I'm coming back or not.

Will didn't know how much longer he could take it.

Every day.

Every hour.

They expected him to be perfect, but he was anything but. Riddled with secrets, his life was constructed from lie after lie after lie. And sooner or later, they would learn.

It was a miracle that they hadn't yet. That they stilled loved him and believed his word.

Will stared into the mirror, hoping no one would notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, covered with thick, skin colored make up. The scars beneath his collar were burned into him with his falsehoods, injuries once told and never explained. Even the one who knew every inch of his body, and vice versa, never had been told the truth behind their origin.

The collar itched his throat, the silver threads rubbing against the sensitive skin.

The false Ranger tugged at the collar and swallowed. He missed the hood of his cloak that would hide his face, his treason, his lies, and would just present a shadow and an even faker smile. The wisp of cloth was still there, but no cloaks were allowed for the wedding. Capes.

Will stepped away from the mirror, eyes immediately falling to his hands, just as scarred as the rest of his body. He ran his right hand thumb over the ring on his left hand.

If most of his life was a lie, than at least those above have so far allowed him to have this one truth.

He turned away, and headed for the door. No hood meant no lie to hide behind, and at least this vow he would keep with his last breath.


	61. Home

Alyss stirred the pot of stew, staring down into the thick, dark liquid for a few moments before tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot, and setting it to the side. The stew was almost finished, but she was worried that she had made too much for just herself. Will may or may not return that night, so she had thought making more would be ideal, but the sun had dropped and there was still no sign of her boyfriend, so she assumed that he must not be returning that night.

Sighing, the young courier poured herself a bowl of the stew before returning the pot to the stove and covering it with the lid. It would stay hot above the fire for a few more hours at least, so she didn't have to worry about it just yet. She ate by herself in silence, slightly lulled into a drowzy state by the natural sounds of birds and bugs chirping away into the night through the open door. Despite Will not being home, she was staying at the small cabin he called home. If he had been home that night, they would have spent the night alone together, and that would have been a blissful escape from the rest of her hectic life. Unfortunately, Will never showed.

After finishing her soup, Alyss gently set the ceramic bowl in the sink to be washed later, and set about cleaning up the rest of the kitchenette. The soup would remain in the pot, because there was no point in wasting it. She would probably have some for breakfast in the morning.

A creak coming from the deck caused Alyss to look up. She had left the door open, to let in some fresh air during the humid night, and she just recalled that fact when a shadowed figure leaned over the doorway and looked in her direction.

She at first didn't recognize him—his skin was darker than normal, and his hair had grown since she had last seen him. Long summer days and nights had probably been the cause of both of those, but it wasn't until a grin spread across his face that Alyss realized who had arrived at the cabin. "I really hope you haven't missed me so much that you've been staying here the entire time," he snickered, straightening his back and stepping into the main room completely. Will's clothing was a little rough, with patched holes and mismatched pieces that Alyss didn't recognize, but just seeing his face made her stop what she was doing to study him.

He looked okay. He looked tired, but okay. Was he hungry? Should she warm up the stew? Should she just let him rest? It had been so long-

Instead, she smiled.

Will smiled back.

She left the pot of stew where it was on the counter and step forward. Will opened his arms embrace her, but the moment she stepped into his arms—he felt so  _frail._  Alyss was almost afraid to hug him back, but she did so, not wanting to hurt Will's feelings. She felt him resting his forehead on her shoulder, and she held him tighter. "How are you?" she whispered in his ear, "do you need anything?"

He stepped back, shaking his head with a weak smile. "No, Alyss," he murmured back, swiping too-long strands of hair out of his eyes, "I'm just tired. I ate not that long ago." He cupped the side of her face in his hand, studying her face. She could see the exhaustion in his eyes. "You don't have to worry about that."

Putting her hand over his, Alyss leaned forward to place a kiss on his temple. "Go get in bed. I'll be there when I finish dealing with this stew."

He nodded, and slipped away from her, the silence of his movements unsettling her. She watched him disappear into their bedroom, and listened to him moving around for a few moments before finishing up what she was doing. She quickly washed the bowl, and set it on the counter to dry over night, before stepping over to the front door to shut and lock it. After dealing with that, she smothered the fire. She brushed her hands off on her dress, not caring about ash smudges because she was wearing a forest green dress with a brown top, instead of her usual courier white and blue uniform.

When she walked into the room, there was still a single candle burning. Will's bare back was to the door, but despite his soft breathing was still obviously awake. Alyss slipped out of her dress, leaving the shift that was underneath on. She took off her shoes, and stockings, and let her hair fall from the messy bun she had put it up into.

Stepping as softly as possible, Alyss walked around the edge of the bed, and slipped underneath the covers. She faced Will in bed, studying his face while his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful, if a bit weary, but that was to be expected after being gone for so long. Surprisingly, his face was clean-shaven, so he must've willingly let his hair grow out as it was. It fit him, she decided, and wondered if he would protest if she touched it.

In a moment, though, his eyes flicked open. He smiled lightly at the sight of her, and moved his legs underneath the covers enough so that she could feel his toes wiggling against her calves. She giggled, and reached underneath the covers to poke him in the ribs in retribution, knowing that he would be too tired to realize in time. Will snorted, and curled his knees to his chest to block her hands from more pokes so instead she reached forward, and ruffled his hair as if he were a child.

"I missed you," she whispered, her hand still in his hair. Will let his legs drop, so they were laying face to face with no obstructions between them. He smiled, his eyelids dropping as his day caught up with him. Tomorrow, she would insist that he rest for the day.

Taking her hand in his, Will slid closer to her, and Alyss slipped her free arm around his torso to bring them stomach to stomach. They had been apart for so long, that being this close was almost like a dream.

Alyss closed her eyes and settled her head just slightly above Will's. In a few moments, she felt Will's body loosen as he drifted off to a much needed sleep, and she was content.


End file.
